If There Never Was
by Ignited
Summary: One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind… C/A Angst/Drama
1. Default Chapter

Title: **If There Never Was**   
Author: **Ignited**  
Posted: 03-11-2002  
Email: Ignited   
Category: Romance, Drama, Angst, AU-ish   
Rating: R for language and sexual situations   
Spoilers: Everything up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of speculation here   
Summary: One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind…   
Distribution: Disharmony, List archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!   
Dedication: To Steffi and Kath– for always believing in me, plus generally being helpful, caring, and showing good input. And to Melissa and Christie, who are fic goddesses and great friends. This one's for you.   
Author's Notes: This has been sitting in my computer since June, at least. Along with two other fanfics that I planned to write, but unfortunately have no time to put real thought into them. So, this is a combination of three different ideas. With the emergence of _Vanilla Sky_, a similar but distinctly different story, I decided to finally complete this minor story, of which has turned into a full fledged monstrosity of a fic. It's my seriously screwed up and basically nothing alike, take on _Vanilla Sky._ Open minds are required, please…   


* * *

**Part 1**

_"It's not   
What you thought   
When you first began it   
You got   
What you want   
Now you can hardly stand it though,   
By now you know   
It's not going to stop   
It's not going to stop   
It's not going to stop   
'Til you wise up"   
~ Wise Up, Aimee Mann_   
  


* * *

  
  
The room was faintly lit, candles burning softly, sending a warm glow into the shadows. There was some music playing, a classical piece that soon gave way as the track changed on the CD player. A click was heard, and the notes drifted on the air, the same classical tone, but modern. _Gravity of Love_ played on repeat… but not too loud, while the pendulum rocked back and forth on the nearby moon and stars mobile.   
  
There were articles of clothing strewn about the floor, a woman's stilettos overturned. A rumpled dark gray sweatshirt hung carelessly on the doorknob of the glass window doors. The walkway into the bedroom was generally messy with items thrown about, a lone wooden chair lying on its back. The click of the CD player was soon the only sound heard. And the cause of this disorder?   
  
The vampire sat on the edge of his bed, Joyce's _A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man_ in one hand, a pretty brunette occupying the other. His fingers tangled in her hair just above the shoulder, highlighted. Index twirled around a few brown and blonde strands, before the five moved in as one and subsequently massaged the flesh underneath.   
  
She was giggling by that time, looking up at him with a coy smile. Her hands would momentarily grab and hold his own, tracing fingertips over the calluses and lines. Then she'd drop his hand, or he'd pull away to turn the page. Or he'd do that tickling thing, randomly flicking his fingers in her face just enough to elicit a squeal out of her.   
  
It was comfortable to simply sit there with her head on his lap, his posture hunched forward, right elbow resting on a knee, and his writing hand holding the book open.   
  
Cordelia had been fiddling with his left hand once more, before she kissed it, declaring it better with her 'demon-y powers'. Then Angel found himself leaning down to kiss her, soft brown wisps tickling him in the process. They were still at it 3 minutes later, coming up for air before diving right in again. He lifted her up into his lap, and she straddled him, her mouth suddenly glued to his.   
  
They kissed slowly, tenderly. She pulled away from him, a hand on his cheek, fingertips on his brow. Smoldering brown eyes looked up into hers, a small yet distinct grin appearing on his face. She seemed interested in the spiked brown hair, cut short, watching her fingers slide through it.   
  
Her hand falling down to her lap with a light smack, Cordy's head canted. Her arms went up again, slipping around his neck.   
  
"Do you love me?" she asked him, a hushed tone, but also in amusement.   
  
Angel's mouth opened slightly, eyes closing before he kissed her once more.   
  
After he pulled away, she angled her face so that her forehead met his. Again in a whisper, Cordy continued, "Because if not, I'll have to kill you."   
  
"Too late," Angel answered, offering a little shrug. "I'm already dead."   
  
She smacked his arm lightly, waving an accusing finger. "Don't get smart."   
  
"I don't have to. I'm already smart," Angel murmured, looking at her. It had been a long few months for him, what with Buffy's death and reemergence, moving on and past her to Cordy. Connor. Holtz. In the end though, she was all that mattered. He felt silly sometimes, thinking about her. Watching her. Obsessing over her. For the little things, he noticed them, enjoyed them. All because he loved her spunk, her creativity and sharp wit.   
  
Lips barely open, Cordelia murmured his name softly. Her grip on him tightened, leg muscles flexing. Eyes half open, and in that sarcastic voice of hers, she said, "Oh. Really. You don't say."   
  
Cordy flashed a mega watt smile, noticing he kept staring at her. To solve her confusion, Angel sighed in amusement.   
  
"God, you're beautiful."   
  
_You're not so bad looking yourself._ She leaned forward, mouth very close to his ear. "Do I have to kill you now, or later?"   
  
"Anytime, Cordy. Anytime."   
  
Pulling back, Cordelia planted a kiss on his lips, grinning. "I love you," she said, mischievous but serious too. "I love you."   
  
He could feel something deep inside him twist when she said those three words over and over in a rush, kissing him. Something fierce, controllable but wild inside him. The demon, he guessed, but it could be that lingering common sense. The reminder that he was meant to be alone, that he should not drag Cordelia into his mess. She deserved everything and more. Not him.   
  
But she loved him, and it scared him sometimes, when he thought about how much he loved her.   
  
Angel could only smile back, coming in for that patented slow kiss. He loved the curve of her neck as she bent down from her precarious perch on his lap. How her hair shined, short strands in her eyes, surrounding her cheeks. That very slight line, right near the curve of her mouth when she giggled and laughed. The rise of her eyebrows, lashes fluttering closed as her soft mouth met his.   
  
He kissed her neck slowly, feeling her muscles tense. Not in the feeling of apprehension if he were to bite her, but in the feeling of upcoming near bliss.   
  
It was all happening too fast for her young heart to take it, feeling the muscle beat rapidly like a humming bird against his hollow chest. She knew this was wrong, and in some ways…completely _right_. It had been too long since she felt the touch of another man, much less her best friend. He had picked her up, tanned legs wrapping around his midsection, her own fingers tangling in his now disheveled hair.   
  
A soft sound to the music, there was an opera in the background, with a crescendo of violins and other instruments. The music's sound seemed to decrease as the evident sounds of moaning and kissing were heard.   
  
Oh…and a rip…no, two, three ripping sounds of clothing–   
  
_Turn around and smell what you don't see   
Close your eyes ... it's so clear_   
  
Angel threw Cordelia onto his bed, getting on top and straddling her. She smiled back up at him, feeling his fingers tangle in her short, lightened brown hair. A smooth hand caressed her face, before he bent down and his lips came to meet hers again.   
  
"Angel–"   
  
He murmured something unintelligible in response, mouth busy with kissing her neck, nuzzling as well. Her hands were bent crookedly to adjust his shirt, trying to pull it upwards. When he didn't cooperate by taking the thing off, she settled for another idea. Cordelia slipped her hands into his black cargo pants, giving the belt loops a quick tug to signal 'Off'.   
  
_What you need and everything you feel   
Is just the question of the day_   
  
He kissed her mouth slowly. She responded, pushing up and against him in mock defiance. She sat up, on her knees, finally lifting his shirt over his head. He pulled the white dress shirt off of her in a rush, throwing the linen garment down. The shirt remain on the floor, another article of clothing she'd borrow from him.   
  
She ate, slept, and lived in the hotel practically. She kept her clothes here, and always got more as per his offerings, but Cordelia liked to use his shirts. Just to wear 'around the house', the silk caressing her flesh and rendering her 'comfy'.   
  
He was lifting the black tanktop off of her by now, absorbed in his musings. Clumsy fingers moved up, pulling the straps of her black tanktop down. The material slid gently over her head, leaving her bare breasts underneath. It wasn't too long before his hands found her abdomen. Cordelia's hands were on his face, as if guiding him to her mouth. She kissed him fervently, and he responded. An arm around her waist, he leaned forward, making her lie back on the bed gently.   
  
_Try to think about it ...   
That's the chance to live your life and discover   
What is it, what's the gravity of love_   
  
Arm supporting her, Angel pressed his face against her stomach, eyes closed. He kissed the tanned flesh there, turning his head, bent down. Leaving a long trail of kisses down her stomach, he came to her hips, looking up at her.   
  
"We can't– Not in front of…"   
  
"I can't. You can," Angel answered simply, pulling her black jeans off. "Connor's still asleep. And if he wakes up, I'll take him downstairs for Wes to look after." He traced the curve of her hip, right near the edge of her black underwear. "There's nothing to be afraid of."   
  
She leaned back on her elbows, brow furrowed. Voice low, she asked, "Why did you word it like that?"   
  
He paused from his actions, eyes lifting up towards her. "What?"   
  
"Why did you word it like that?" she repeated, head canting, looking at him.   
  
"I…don't know," Angel admitted, offering a shrug. "In case…you think something's going to happen."   
  
"_Nothing_ is going to happen, right?" Her emphasis on that first word unnerved him, making him lean back on his heels a little.   
  
"Define nothing."   
  
"As in you getting all 'grr' and you know…the killing of people?"   
  
A slow grin spread on Angel's face. Body rising up, his strong hands pushed her down again gently. He looked back, pulling the bed sheet on top of him and Cordy. Bracing his arm on the bed, his free hand caressed her face, gazing into her eyes intently. Almost searching, trying to see what other parts of her he had yet to discover, parts uncharted and wild.   
  
"I love you," Angel murmured, some part of him realizing that sounded sappy. But it was true. There was no denying it. Slowly, their relationship had reached the point of romance, far from the simple budding friendship they began years before. Finally, they were together. Even with all their differences, they still loved each other. He felt ashamed of all the times he hurt her, all the times he obsessed about her to the point of– God, if she ever left him…   
  
Her lips crashed into his again and again…   
  
_"Angel."_   
  
"What?"   
  
"ANGEL!"   
  
The vampire's head snapped to the right, hearing a knock at the door. Angel looked back to Cordelia, seeing her fall back down on the bed with a sigh. He quickly pulled the sheet over her bottom half, and she pulled the rest up to her neck.   
  
"Close call," Angel gritted, pulling away from her side. Fingertips brushing his arm, Cordelia indicated with a waving hand for him to bend down. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips, a smile following afterwards.   
  
"I love you," she told him, voice genuine.   
  
"I know." He winked at her. Drifting over to the door, Angel picked up his silk robe from the floor, slipping it on. He was both tired and hyper at the same time. Tired because he knew he'd eventually have to clean up the mess they'd caused… And hyper because Cordelia was in his bed.   
  
CORDY was in his bed. Life was good.   
  
Angel soon found himself becoming annoyed when Wesley greeted him after opening the door.   
  
"Wes. What is it?"   
  
The former Watcher looked flustered. "Ah…" He took a quick glance at the lack of Angel's attire…boxers, robe…adding up to– "I hope I'm not disturbing you."   
  
Angel glanced briefly over his shoulder, seeing Cordelia hang off the edge of the bed, trying to reach for his shirt. "Not at all."   
  
Thump. The covers went crashing down with her.   
  
Wesley tried peeking over Angel's shoulder, a look of concern. "Is there–?"   
  
"Nothing. It's nothing." Angel smacked Wesley's shoulder in a friendly, masculine way. He closed the door shut behind them both, a plastered smile on his pale face. "So. What's happening?"   
  
Eyes narrowing, Wesley shook the fake tone of Angel's voice off. "We've located a follow up to the current case."   
  
"With the Temsik demon?" Angel's posture straightened, fake façade gone, the serious image remaining.   
  
"The very one," Wesley answered. "It appears there's been a string of crimes near Lafayette Park that have all occurred within the past few days."   
  
Angel crossed his arms. "Why didn't we hear about it?"   
  
"The victims were all attacked by a perpetrator of demonic origin. The Los Angeles law enforcement chose to retain the actual causes of death, passing them off as gang victims. I've tried to bookmark a meeting with the coroner, but it's becoming rather hard." Wesley's voice lowered. "You see, the bodies were mutilated beyond recognition, parts missing. Runes and incantations were scarred into their flesh. From what I've gathered, they were all killed by the same being, due to the similar abuse and inscriptions. It's the same one who I believe caused all that trouble a week ago."   
  
"Another point that confirms the police are in denial," Angel surmised. He shrugged, hands slipping into silken pockets. "And isn't everyone these days."   
  
"Right." Wesley nodded, Angel directing him with a hand on his back to the end of the hallway. "Gunn and Fred went out on my orders to collect some books which may prove useful to figuring this out."   
  
"Ooookay then, Wes." Angel smiled, backtracking to his bedroom door. "I'll be there in a while."   
  
"I suppose you can have Cordelia bring Connor down any minute," Wesley drawled, taking some satisfaction at the wince on Angel's face. "He should be waking up from his nap–"   
  
The startling cry of an infant's wail made Angel jerk in surprise.   
  
"–About now."   
  
Angel gave Wesley a tired salute, before heading into his room.   
  
*   
  
"Wait…here. Stop– stop _moving_." Cordelia scowled at Angel, looking up to his amused face. Her proximity both startled and allured him, those gentle fingers straightening his collar. She lifted her head, smiling when Angel tapped her nose lightly, a kiss following afterwards. Her fingers latched onto the lapels of his leather jacket, playfully nipping at his lips.   
  
"When the two of you are done…"   
  
Cordy pulled away, both she and Angel turning to see a disapproving Wesley. It was at least twenty minutes after Wesley's interruption, and both Angel and Cordy had gotten dressed. Gunn smirked at them both, arms slipping into denim jacket sleeves. Fred twirled a pen in her fingers, holding a leather-bound book with both hands. Wesley handed Gunn a short sword, hefting his own.   
  
"…Maybe we can finish this case now?" Wesley raised an eyebrow, sighing.   
  
"Sorry." Angel's tone was curt, eyes looking downwards as he marched over to the bassinet nearby. A warm smile crossed his features, gentle finger stroking the hand of his son. Connor gurgled, smiling up at him, wrapped in a cute blue jumper.   
  
Angel leaned down, that recently familiar dorky smile coming onto his face. He assured the baby, "We'll be back soon, all right little guy?"   
  
Manicured nails reached his line of eyesight, fingertips resting on his shoulder. Angel's eyes lifted to see Cordelia standing beside him. An apologetic smile, she lifted Connor carefully from the bassinet, rubbing a hand against the infant's back.   
  
"You keep staring at him, and we both know you'll start with the baby talk again," Cordelia accused, flashing a mega watt smile. She gestured to the others with a nod of her head. "Go on. Demons to kill. Should be fun."   
  
Her vampire turned on a heel, the soft sound of conversation between the other three greeting his ears. Everything was normal…Weird in a way. This little 'family' his son would grow up into. British Uncle Wes with his old texts and proper mannerisms. Aunt Fred and Uncle Gunn, both complete opposites but with good hearts. And..who else? Auntie– Mommy, the young woman turned part demon, who received visions and could sometimes levitate. And Daddy, a good vampire that dressed well, had a good heart, and repeatedly left the blood mugs out.   
  
At least that's what Cordelia's description of him would be.   
  
"Where's Lorne?" Angel called to Wesley, but it was Gunn who answered, tracing the edge of his sword.   
  
"Out chattin' it up with the demons. Same old, same old." Gunn went back to eagerly listening to Fred. Her slightly Southern drawl ensnared him, even with her talk about pi and mathematical formulas. The boy was smitten, but just too proud to admit it.   
  
"He's should be fine," Fred added, playfully smacking Gunn's arm.   
  
With a small flourish, Angel turned around, his hand smoothing Cordelia's bare shoulder before caressing her cheek. Concern flooded his voice and reached his eyes. "Think you're gonna be okay here…Alone?"   
  
"I'll be fine. We need someone to hold down the fort, and it looks like it's my job tonight. No problem-o," Cordy answered, that smile bringing out color in her tanned cheeks. He could almost feel his knees go weak, and he damn well resisted the urge to kiss her. Because if he did, then they'd never get this simple little case done, and that…was bad… right?   
  
Uh. Uh huh. Right.   
  
He found himself staring at her.   
  
"Angel."   
  
"Mmm."   
  
She looked puzzled, but mischievous. "What's your malfunction?"   
  
"Oh!" Angel swallowed down the lump in his throat, dark eyes furtively glancing up from that spot on her neck, to meet hazel. "Uh. Nothing. Nothing." His fingers flinched, hand pulling away and down. Angel almost moved in for a hug, but remembered that sandwiching the baby between them both was not a good thing.   
  
Connor gave a small sigh, eyelids at half-mast.   
  
"We'll be back," he stated, pulling away from his position near Cordy. Feeling around in his pocket for the keys to his black GTX convertible, Angel heard the others in step behind him. Even though he couldn't see her, Angel could feel those lingering eyes on him, and that gentle whisper in his ears despite the back door slamming shut.   
  
*   
  
"Fred! No, come on over here!" Gunn shouted, elbowing the face of the nearest Temsik demon. He could feel slimy claws latch onto his jacket, pulling him back from his walk to Fred. The aforementioned girl screamed Gunn's name while simultaneously thwacking her own demon with a bat. She yelled something else, and it wasn't long before Gunn gave the demon a good blow to the back of its head.   
  
The Temsik demons were wrinkly and scaly, dark green skin covered with a glistening sheen of perspiration. Their eyes looked sealed shut, perhaps by birth or burning. Heads misshapen and teeth elongated, they were numerous and rushing the good guys. Angel had long since gone into vampire mode, roaring and shoving the hollering demons off of him. His leather jacket was torn, various bruises and cuts on his face and hands.   
  
The sewer stank of garbage and mildew, plus the slippery and sloshy floor made it hard not to skid. Rumbling pipes hanging above also continued their shaky, echoing moan. The constant sound made it hard for anyone, much less a vampire with acute hearing, to think clearly.   
  
Wesley sliced the gut of one demon, kicking another in its shin. "Angel, get to Fred!"   
  
There was panic in Wesley's blue eyes, as he saw that Gunn was overtaken with two demons. The ratio of bad to good was 3 to 1…Not good. Fred could hold her own under easier circumstances. However, it seemed that he nor Gunn could get to her in time. She nearly lost her head months ago, and Wesley would not like to see that happen again.   
  
Angel kicked another demon that tried getting up from the floor. His head snapped to the left, seeing the leader Temsik demon nearby. He could tell it was the leader clearly by the golden bracelets on its rough wrists and neck. Usually leaders adorned themselves while subordinates settled for less.   
  
Punching another demon that came up from behind, Angel growled in frustration. If only he could just reach out and twist the thing's neck ever so hard to the right and–   
  
"ANGEL!"   
  
Wesley's strong voice brought Angel back from his wishing. To his right was Fred who was in dire need of serious help, a demon clamping his hand on her neck. Gunn was too far away and so was Wesley. He made his move, hands clamping on the leader demon's neck after he leaped forward. Twisting, he could just feel the thing die, feel vertebrae snapping–   
  
Another demon rushed his side, making him drop the neck of the one he was twisting. Angel cursed, plowing his fist into the new demon's face, turning and shoving his sword into its midsection right afterwards.   
  
Damn it. Stay or go right. Kill the other demons, hope Gunn throws off the guys in time, risk Fred's life. Go right, save Fred, and wait for the shoe to drop, wait for those demons to possibly get away, regroup and start killing again.   
  
He made his decision.   
  
Right.   
  
Angel shook the clawing and dying off of him, letting it drop to the floor with a moan. Turning, he threw the short sword he clutched with a bruised hand. The blade sliced through the air, and planted firmly between the shoulder blades of the Temsik who almost crushed Fred's windpipe. Gunn had leaped up right afterwards, elbowing the demon that restrained him. With a small flourish, he hacked off the heads of the two demons that had previously occupied Angel's time.   
  
The fight ended a few minutes later. Without the leader for support, Angel surmised, the remaining demons had grown afraid and careless. His boot accidentally kicked one body on the floor while walking over to Wesley. Features shifting to normal, Angel tapped Wesley's back gently.   
  
Wesley looked down at the broken body in front of him, death by sword wounds. He took off his glasses, cleaning them with a handkerchief from his jacket pocket.   
  
"I got the leader, Wes," Angel shouted over the sound, head hanging down a bit. He idly touched a scrape on his forehead, feeling the pain fade away, tissue mending, cuts healing, scars averted. Yet another plus of being a vampire.   
  
Wesley turned around, offering a half smile. He could see Gunn helping Fred up from the ground, wiping the dirt off her jacket. "Good. Let's tend to the wounded."   
  
A nod was Angel's response. "Yeah…"   
  
He offered that crooked smile of his, before heading down the passageway with a silent Wes, a stoic Gunn and a bemused Fred. They were all aching, too tired to make insightful jokes and only settling for witty remarks from Gunn instead. All they needed was to be rid of the foul sewer stench, and up into the air again. The city, and as Angel would have it, the man-made lights.   
  
*   
  
It had taken a long while, but somehow Angel returned to the hotel, Fred trailing behind him with eyes half open. The night had passed in a blur, and soon it would be daytime… Tired muscles stretched as he walked up the staircase, too sleepy to check if Lorne had returned from… well, whatever he had been doing. Angel checked his watch, seeing that it was only 1:29 AM.   
  
Angel made sure Fred got to her room without collapsing from the lack of sleep, wishing her good night.   
  
Cordelia would either be in panic, caffeinated-to-stay-awake, 'mommy' mode…Or maybe after all her worrying and prattle to Connor, she had fallen asleep.   
  
Entering his room quietly, Angel then went with the second option. He closed the door shut behind him gently, slipping out of the torn, black leather jacket. Holding it in his fist, Angel walked over to his bed, seeing the sleeping form of Cordelia. She was in shorts and a short, dark gray tanktop… different from the simple dress shirt and underwear hours before. Maybe Wesley's interruption has started a sense of embarrassment in her. Either that or she just wanted to be more comfortable. He didn't know much about women's relationships with clothing.   
  
However, upon further inspection, Angel could see those lovely fingers clutched around a dark, black silk material. Cordy had it pulled up and against her face, like a little girl with a stuffed animal.   
  
It was one of his shirts.   
  
He could feel that dorky smile come on again. Angel turned and walked to Connor's crib, placing his jacket down on a chair. The infant was sound asleep, his small breathing wondrous to Angel's ears.   
  
Gunn and Wesley had gone home, wounds needing to be mended. There were no serious bruises, thank God, and everyone would be all right. They'd meet the next day, Saturday, just to hang out.   
  
His 'family' couldn't be doing better.   
  
After taking a quick shower and changing into black pajama pants, he slipped underneath the bed covers. Feeling a gentle sigh coming from his Cordy, Angel's eyes closed with a smile on his face. It wasn't too long afterwards that he felt those fingers uncurl from the silk shirt and softly touch his bare chest, staying there.   
  
Protected.   
  
*   
  
He watched her from his place in the shadows of the alley, eyes roaming every inch of her flesh. The sun caressed her body like a gentle lover, her eyes wild and burning hazel. Cordy stretched gracefully like a feline, her head canting– neck, there, there was the curve and exposed skin– to look back at him. She rubbed her arms, suddenly frigid in the harsh heat, city street pavement sizzling golden. Air rose in short drafts, blowing papers and garbage littering the ground.   
  
Her dress was pure white silk, with spaghetti straps, reaching just above bare knees. The blinding wind blew down around her, never seeming to touch her. Dress flowing like an angel, the lovely smile present. Her hair then flew up in the breeze, hair never getting into her eyes, just 'floating'.   
  
Slowly…everything happened so slowly.   
  
Cordelia flexed her hand, a soft wave. Beckoning him to come closer. He resigned, afraid to feel the dangerous pricking across his skin. How ironic, that the harsh ball of fire in the sky could be so generous and kind hearted to this woman, his love. Yet to him, it was a cruel and horrible thing, slaying and destroying.   
  
Angel stepped out into the sunlight, taking her hand.   
  
All motion stopped. The air whistled past their faces, gooseflesh erupting because of the temperature. Delicate fingers caressed his brow and cheek, lingering.   
  
"I love you," she told him in all seriousness. "But you have to learn to let me go."   
  
Opening his mouth to speak, Angel suddenly found himself alone on that empty street. He glanced around, seeing no cars whatsoever. Neither were there any people. The sunlight streamed down, reflecting off the immaculate glass of harsh steel buildings, storefronts. It was a typically busy street, only devoid of all things moving. Traffic signals flared yellow, then red in order, directing no cars.   
  
The street was entirely empty, as far as the eye could see.   
  
Forcing down the lump in his throat, Angel found his voice again. "Cordelia?"   
  
It had to be at least noon. So why weren't there anyone, anything moving on Rodeo Drive, a normally lively and busy center of commerce?   
  
He turned around slowly, taking in the utter silence, save for the wind rushing past his ears.   
  
Totally alone.   
  
The vampire started to run, duster billowing behind him, searching for signs of life. His heart rose, buildings flashed by the faster he ran, stomach begged for food. For blood, what kept mortals alive and well.   
  
Plus, vampires too.   
  
He kept running and running and running until his legs gave way, and soon the darkness flooded in.   
  
_"I can't stay with you until you see the truth."_   
  
*   
  
**That Morning**   
  
Those tumultuous brown eyes snapped open, the alarm clock going off. _Only a dream._ He could feel the smaller body move next to him, groaning. A thin arm pulled the covers up and over his girlfriend's head, eager to reach the place of sleep. However, Angel had no time for this because he had a schedule. He always had a schedule; it made everything in order. He liked order.   
  
Kicking the canvas bag out of his way on the floor, he shuffled into the bathroom. The lights were still off. It was around five in the morning, and the sun was not too far off. He wished he could've gone for a run, just to let off some steam, but she wouldn't let him leave. Not now.   
  
Misguided fingers turned the faucet knob, letting hot water roll over the calluses of his fingers. He looked into the mirror, unable to see anything. It was still dark. Adjusting his pants, he flicked on the light, leaning against the rim of the sink with both hands.   
  
Angel's reflection was there, just as he remembered it. How could he forget such a face? His victims had not, nor did his friends. No one could forget that disfigured face, ever since the smash up. He called it that sometimes, because he didn't like it being referred to as 'the accident'. It wasn't a damn accident. He could see from his left eye, the right not as well due to the damage being mostly on that side. It was hard for him to talk sometimes, but he managed. It was pretty bad; scars evident, skin uneven, jaw a bit crooked and looking like hell. He stood up straight, glancing at his brow, once joked about, now slightly irregular on the right side.   
  
He never really liked himself, but it now felt like his true demon could permanently be seen: something horrible and deformed, and ugly.   
  
It seemed ironic that he was once known as "the one with the angelic face," and now? What was he, a shell of his former broad shouldered, powerful self, now more gaunt and thin, hair grown longer so that it got in his eyes. He eventually hoped it would be long enough to cover his face again, but she wouldn't let him do that.   
  
His jaw was set, cold and calculated, in need of a shave. Broken in four different places, the doctors had said when he came out of the hospital. They didn't operate immediately because of the coma, which could lead to brain defects if they worked on him. He did wake up, and they set to work, mending the broken bones and tissue. Sometimes Angel wondered if he'd ring when going through a metal detector; they'd put some much damn metal in his skull, you'd think he could pick up radio stations.   
  
No matter how hard the doctors tried, they could not mend his ravaged face fully. There were procedures that hadn't been accomplished, new techniques that needed to be tested. He volunteered, they declined.   
  
So he would wait. Wait for this damn thing to stay with him in his now shorter life. Humans could wait. Why couldn't he? He was one of them, after all.   
  
"Mmm."   
  
Angel turned, flicking the light off. He walked back into the room, grinding his teeth, fireworks exploding in his jaw because of it. His breathing was hitched just thinking about his situation, gait erratic… he made it to the bed, looking down at her. She was turning once more, taking the cover off with her.   
  
"You - didn't need to wake up so early," He told her, looking at the floor.   
  
"I can't stay sleeping any longer. Otherwise, I won't wake up 'til noon tomorrow." She yawned. He appreciated the loveliness of her mouth. "…I was dreaming about you."   
  
"I'll go make you some coffee," Angel responded gruffly, and it wasn't long before he pulled on a black silk robe and made his way downstairs.   
  
She yawned again, pulling the covers once more. The soft comforter twisted because of those firm legs, material hanging over the edge of the bed messily. She pulled the cover off, leaning back and rubbing her right eye.   
  
Looking in the direction of the door that was left ajar, she raised an eyebrow.   
  
"I guess someone's not an early riser," Buffy admitted, before yanking the covers over her head, while thinking of excuses to say to Angel for not getting there early.   


* * *

**Part 2**

_So hard to understand, to know, to figure it all out…_   
  
…_"I thought everything was fine. But I soon realized it wasn't. Nothing…everything was hard. Life was hard, this thing called living. I went. I tried. I didn't ask questions."   
  
"And why didn't you, if you thought something was wrong?"   
  
"Because… I- I felt that it was the way it should've been. Perfect irony. Eventually, I turned out to be wrong. Consequences. They're funny that way…"   
  
"So that's your explanation for all of this."   
  
"I-I don't know WHAT happened, okay? Stop…stop it."   
  
"Relax Angel. I'm just trying to figure out what happened. Do you feel up to continuing?"   
  
"I…I don't think I can answer anymore questions today."   
  
"Relax. Relax…Let's see if we can put this all together."_   
  
*   
  
Buffy came down the hotel staircase, skipping one…two stairs at a time. She decided to wear the black leggings, white T-shirt, gray hooded jacket and tennis shoes because it wasn't that cold that morning. Usually she'd wear warmer clothing because Angel didn't bother turning the heat on.   
  
The aforementioned man stood off to the side in the office, unrecognizable from her point of view. He wore the long robe and he was skinnier now, just like when she first met him. His hair was longish and tousled in that way she loved. It got in his eyes, but once in a while she'd blow the bangs away, sealing his lips with a kiss.   
  
Turning to look at her, his trouble eyes lifted to meet her own. Angel looked suspicious, or what could pass for suspicious on his face. "What?"   
  
"Nothing," Buffy answered, tone abrupt. She made her way to the counter; eyes fixed on the small stack of newspapers waiting. "These came in today?"   
  
Gesturing with his coffee mug in his hand, he placed Buffy's mug on the counter. "Some are from yesterday, but most are today. Sorry I couldn't get you the old ones sooner."   
  
The Slayer shook her head, flipping through the pages. "It's fine."   
  
Angel took that as a cue to shut up, and did so, taking a sip of the hot, black coffee.   
  
"Aren't you going to ask me how my night went?" Buffy asked, blue eyes lifting to meet with his briefly, a coy smile.   
  
"How did it go?"   
  
"We took down five vamps. It would've been six if Faith hadn't let the other one go, after she teased him."   
  
Now Angel looked confused. "Teased him?"   
  
"You know, that whole 'I'm cool, Slayeriffic, five by five, one night fling, yadda yadda yadda."   
  
"Slayeriffic."   
  
Buffy nodded. "Slay-er-rif-fic," she repeated, as if talking to a small child.   
  
"You need more coffee. Your puns are weak," Angel accused, smiling at her. It pained him to do so. She flinched visibly, smiling back before looking at the papers. Of course, he remembered to include the comics before she had a seizure, and kicked his butt. Which was easier than ever, since he couldn't contend with her Slayer strength. Human weakness. If he didn't get those messages from the Powers That Be, he really would feel worthless.   
  
Angel knew depression in his unlife, and it seemed to come back and haunt him when he was living now, too.   
  
He watched the corners of her lips raise up in a smile, knowing that he loved her.   
  
_Always._   
  
He'd given up his crusade to be with her, had he not? The Mohra's blood made him human, and he could not bear wanting to change back. Not after seeing her face, feeling her skin. Feeling her inside of him when they had sex for the second time…   
  
"Did you eat anything?"   
  
Angel looked to the toaster on the table near the counter. "No, I–"   
  
_– "You're not much of a foodie. I know." Hair in pigtails, cowboy boot on the lemon colored tanktop–_   
  
"– didn't eat… yet."   
  
Buffy looked up once more. "What's the what?"   
  
"Pardon?"   
  
"You're getting all spacey. And use of proper grammar? …Something's bugging you."   
  
"It's nothing." He fidgeted, scratching his firm chest underneath the robe.   
  
A shrill beep went off, making him jerk from the sound. Buffy leaned down, checking her beeper. "It's Faith. I told her to meet me bright and early. We found a nest down on Third."   
  
"All right. See you later, then?"   
  
"Yeah." Buffy straightened, adjusting the stakes on her belt. She started to go, then thought better of it, stopping. Quickly, she kissed him on his good cheek before pulling away. Lifting her canvas bag, eyes downcast, Buffy left the hotel, leaving a confused Angel behind.   
  
*   
  
"What's wrong?"   
  
Angel heard the question faintly, it jogging his memory. He could clearly remember hearing that question often, but from someone else.   
  
A pale hand slammed the tabletop in front of him, making him shake out of the daydream. Another gaunt face with high cheekbones stared at him, head canting.   
  
Spike snapped his fingers. "Hell-o?"   
  
"There's nothing wrong with me."   
  
"Oh. Right then," Spike acknowledged, a sarcastic tone in his voice.   
  
Angel didn't like being outside in the sunlight. The first few weeks were marvelous, but ever since the accident… Angel hated it. They were at a small café, sitting inside, far from the window. The convertible was parked outside, in the alley. He didn't want to go in public, but Spike told him he needed some air. When Angel pointed out that it was daytime, Spike just gave him a look, and borrowed his blanket in the car.   
  
They sat towards the back, Angel keeping the right side of his face to the wall, so fewer people would stare again. Fortunately, his longish hair covered some of his face, so that was good. Besides doing that, Angel kept his hair longer than before since he didn't bother with his appearance after the accident. What good came out of a great hair day, when you looked like you'd seen far worse days?   
  
It took Buffy a lot of coaxing for him to dress decently; she bought him a lot of his clothing. Lots of dark, muted colors. Thankfully, she didn't bother with the whole shaving thing, because otherwise he'd feel like a child, her catering to him. He had a three-day stubble grown in, and didn't care.   
  
The people already were staring. Some young guys came in, probably jocks. It was a crowded restaurant, so they couldn't make a scene. But upon seeing Angel's face, they started snickering.   
  
"Fix your face, man!" A helpful one suggested.   
  
"I'll give HIM a face to look at!" Spike growled, features shifting slightly, demon struggling to emerge. He felt protective of his grandsire, in some odd way. Sure, Spike disliked the poofter, but only he could tell him so. Spike reserved Angel for insults. That was all.   
  
"Leave it," Angel muttered through clenched teeth.   
  
_–"You're handsome, brave, heroic... Emotionally stunted, prone to turning evil, and let's face it, a–" –_   
  
"Eunuch," Angel finished oddly. Spike gave him a curious look, leading Angel to fumble for a response. "Uh - that's the guy."   
  
"Yeah…" Spike turned in his chair to look, then back to Angel. "Speaking of…" He pointed to his own face, index finger waving about in small circles. "The face?"   
  
"It's better. There's an appointment scheduled for Saturday."   
  
"Ah." Spike leaned forward, changing the subject. "Faith let me in on their little plan. We're to meet at 'O Leary's later. Have a little drink, watch out for the expected vamps, do a little mischief. You know, all in good fun."   
  
"All right." Angel stirred his coffee, gazing out the window. "Buffy's coming too, right?"   
  
"'Course your bird's going to be there."   
  
Angel nodded distantly, wondering where that voice in his head came from. The voice that wasn't Buffy.   
  
*   
  
_"You had a vision, seeing another girl, right?"   
  
"This was more than a vision. I FELT her. I knew her from somewhere. I just couldn't quite place what and where."   
  
"It wasn't like the extended period before? You two, when you were reading?"   
  
"Extended? No. That was real. I remember…I could feel her skin, taste her. I need her…God, where is she…?"   
  
"Forget about that for now, Angel. Let's speed it up a bit, shall we?"   
  
"…Right, right."_   
  
*   
  
Bus rides were a bitch when you were wearing too tight leather pants. Major chaffing.   
  
She groaned, trying to resist the urge of yanking her pants off. Of course, when safely in her room at the motel, she'd do it. But the idea of walking around in her black lacy panties in public did seem fun.   
  
_Anyway._   
  
At least that place was better than others she'd been to. Boston. New York. Chicago. Now something on the west coast. The climate was sure as hell hotter than the usual haunts, but it was something she could get used to. As long as she stuck to the task at hand, then everything would be all right. A clean sweep down this street, then she'd go and shack up. Maybe make a phone call or two, have a little fun.   
  
She traced the counter top with flexing fingers, tapping an unknown tune. It was boring, just waiting there in a smelly old records store, but it was required. She did the casual flicking through the LPs thing again, nose scrunching when a dust cloud flared up. These things were called records, she remembered, having heard the word used once or twice before. They seemed foreign and odd in her opinion.   
  
The reason why she was there, came into the store, worn leather boots and low riding jeans completing the hoodlum look.   
  
The idea of just plain sleeping seemed more than good. Three vampires dusted hours before, and her muscles were aching. _It's because you're being a lazy ass. They never took that much out of you like before_.   
  
"You goin' later tonight?"   
  
The question was not directed at her, thankfully. She made a show of flipping through the LPs some more, pulling out an old white album. The Beatles. Oddness. She could smell cigarette smoke, angling her head just so to peer out from long dark brown tresses.   
  
Two vamps in non-fang mode. Both were deathly pale, and in need of serious body hygiene.   
  
"O'Leary's right? Jacob said he'd be there with the rest. It's Happy Hour," the cigarette smoking vampire joked, playfully punching the other street vamp.   
  
"Cool. We're all goin'? The entire crew?"   
  
"Yeah. Jacob figured we'd bag at least a dozen meals to go."   
  
"Right, right."   
  
_'O Leary's._ Rolling her shoulder muscles, Cordelia Chase stretched. _Looks like I'll be putting off that whole sleeping thing. Better go in with more muscle than I thought._   
  
*   
  
Buffy hefted the crossbow at waist length, looking at it disdainfully. The craftsmanship was shoddy, the balance was irregular…_Ugh. Yuck._   
  
She placed the crossbow back on the shelf, looking about the magic store. It was dark outside, and pretty soon she'd have to leave to go meet Spike, Faith, and Angel. Buffy scrunched her nose, walking slowly by an antique weapons display. She wondered why her mind filed in Angel last. No. It was time to stock up, not go over the whole Angel situation.   
  
The whole place was inviting, the walls paneled in wood, air filled with incense. A row of glass-paneled display cases formed a counter on one side, while tables and stands were scattered throughout the rest of the floor space. There were odd types of merchandise all over the place, weapons, jars filled with liquids, books. Just lots of magic stuff.   
  
Lifting a tapered wooden stick– _almost like an extra long stake_– Buffy's mouth curled into a smile. She could feel the wood in her hands, imagine the exquisitely carved weapon burying into the gut of an unseen monster.   
  
_The metal and plastic screamed, the silver car crashing into the black GTX, a grinning monster appreciating its handiwork. In slow-motion, his world fell apart–_   
  
She took a deep breath, straightening the stick. Deciding to buy the item, Buffy turned and walked to the register, trying to shake out the still fresh images of horror out of her mind.   
  
*   
  
Cordelia stood outside the door to the bar. "'O Leary's," the sign read. She parted her leather jacket, revealing the tops of her breasts, fixed her shirt, and ran her fingers through her hair before entering the bar.   
  
In the deep bowels of the bar, Cordelia sat alone in a small booth, secluded in the shadows. A mug of beer on the table in front of her, her hazel eyes roamed the occupants of the bar, the mug leaving a small pool of liquid on the table, already condensing. Her eyes fell on three people entering the bar, two men and one woman.   
  
_Interesting_, Cordelia thought to herself. The three were at the other end of the bar, and she watched as they took seats at the bar counter. She noticed the startling differences among them, wondering why they were actually...friends, maybe? They all looked so different from each other.   
  
One of the two young men wore a baggy black trenchcoat, his hair a shock of white, cheekbones harsh on his pale face, full lips. He appeared to carry himself well, so she figured he might be English. Or maybe a vampire. Perhaps both. He had that whole Sid Vicious, Billy Idol, mad at the world, punk rock, Sex Pistols craving…British thing about him.   
  
Other people might not be able to guess, but she learned to notice little things like that. Or maybe it was because she got bored easily. It was always hard to tell. She moved a lock of hair away from her face, regretting her choice of a messy ponytail half piled up on her head.   
  
The girl, she had blonde hair and blue eyes, a light tan, and looked straight out of a Gap commercial. Of course, Cordelia thought. _Your typical air head that calls herself an actress, sleeping with directors and hoping to be James Cameron's poster girl._   
  
Chuckling to herself, Cordelia grinned slightly, leaning back. _I bet she was Homecoming Queen in High School, too._   
  
However, the other man attracted Cordelia's attention even more. He was a good thirty feet away, but she could see him so clearly, it was as if she had twin telescopes for eyes. She saw the back of his head, dark brown hair longish and messy. His six-foot plus frame concealed by a black shirt, pants, and dark gray trenchcoat. A hand protectively on the girl's waist…well, trying since the girl never stopped moving.   
  
The girl moved to the counter, the blonde guy sitting two stools away. The man in the trenchcoat finally turned upon sitting down next to the blonde girl.   
  
Cordelia winced visibly, taking in the sight of his face, plastic surgery gone wrong. The left side of his disfigured face was a trifle better than the right, but there were scars evident. It looked like someone had taken a baseball bat and smashed his face in…but she knew that was exaggerating. Still, it must've been hard for him to talk or see, what with his right eye near shut, and mouth slightly crooked.   
  
He had the most amazing eyes though, of what she could see from her position in the back.   
  
_Weird. And ugh_, Cordelia thought, discreetly gazing over at him. _Why can't he just fix it?_   
  
She looked up, watching the girl stand up, lightly pat him on the shoulder. He looked startled, as if he had been daydreaming. He gave a slight smile– which looked weird on his somewhat sad face, Cordelia noted– and nodded to the girl. The girl walked pass her booth, to the lady's room. _Probably his sister or something_, she thought to herself. _Doubtful he can get a girlfriend with a face like that._   
  
Sighing, she stood up, realizing that nothing of importance was going on in this place. It also wouldn't help to 'casually' sit there, just waiting for vamps, and be noticeable. Throwing a five to the bartender as she walked out, she threw her jacket on carelessly. The weather here in L.A. was very warm during the day. At night, however, the mercury dropped harshly. Calmly walking down the alley behind the bar, she shoved her hands into her pockets.   
  
_Oh yay_, Cordelia thought, closing her eyes a little, giving herself what seemed like a dreamy expression. She heard a faint shuffling behind her, the sound of rubber soles on concrete. She could've done that whole "Oh-I'm-just-a-damsel-in-distress-so-please-go-easy-on-me" act, but kicking their asses would be so much sweeter.   
  
Spinning around, she faced two demons, both wearing street clothes, their skins a deep color of ocean blue. Each had two small silver horns on top of their bald heads, arching forward.   
  
"Aren't you two just a bunch of cuties..." she muttered, getting into a fighting stance. She noticed one of the demons brandished a rusty broad sword, the other holding a crowbar in his fist.   
  
"Come with us or die," the one to her left spat out, taking a step towards her.   
  
"Schedule's kinda booked. I don't have time for some creeps like you two."   
  
"All right," said the other, lunging towards her, waving his crowbar.   
  
She had been prepared for this. She took his wrist under her arm, catching him off balance and using his momentum to throw him into an alley wall. A slight sound was heard, as he hurt his arm from it slamming the wall. He reeled, dropping his weapon and falling to the ground, cradling his arm. Cordelia took this opportunity to quickly snatch up the crowbar.   
  
"Shit!" yelled the other demon, lunging his sword at Cordelia. The young woman blocked it with her crowbar, and delivered a kick to his chest. He fell back, slamming the alley wall behind him.   
  
"Yoooo...." the one cradling his arm called out, at first weakly, then louder, tears in his eery blue eyes. "Ydhrrndll, flathinsha!" he yelled, curled up near the wall.   
  
Cordelia blinked, confused, then felt large, rough arms around hers, bracing her arms back. She struggled with the two new demons that came from the shadows.   
  
There were four new demons in front of her, six in play. Eight in all, but two were down and out of the game. The demons were brandishing weapons as well, two with knives, one with a billy club, and another one with a small medieval double-bladed axe. She could've taken three of them. But she was restricted from doing anything, the two demon's arms like vises.   
  
"Kill her," the demon to the left of her, the one holding her had said. She kept struggling, knowing that it was no use, because these two were more than ordinary demons; they were both a deeper, richer blue than their brethren.   
  
_Uh oh._   
  
*   
  
"It wasn't fair!" whined Buffy, for the fifth time. "I mean, here I am, kick ass mode, ready to stake the…the _jerk_, right? Then one of his buddies comes up from behind and rips my new suede boots. Does he even bother to think how much they cost? Noooo. And– Spike. Spike, are you listening to me? Spike?"   
  
"Huh? Oh yeah, you were talking about..." he trailed off, looking back to the glass of beer in front of him, the same glass he had been staring into for the pass five minutes as Buffy was ranting. He, Buffy, and Angel were in the dark and gloomy dive off of Main Street, 'O Leary's, for nearly fifteen minutes now.   
  
"I was talking about what, Spike?"   
  
"The...The…boots," Spike said slowly, managing to remember.   
  
"You were just lucky on that one. Angel, you there?" She poked Angel, who was sitting next to her, his dark eyes roaming the customers in the bar. His mind kept focusing on that daydream… That girl, with her cute little pigtails… She couldn't be no more than 18…maybe 20. She looked at him with such trust in her eyes, a beautiful smile on her face.   
  
"Yeah, Buffy. Let's try to keep a low profile here, all right? We don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves."   
  
"Of course, but I just wanted to keep the convo going. Because my idea of a late night does not involve sitting between two vamp…a British vamp, and an Irish…guy. You know, we need to pick out a last name for you," Buffy added randomly.   
  
Angel turned, an eyebrow raised. He opened his mouth to saw something, but snapped it shut, eyes rolling in the back of his head. He jerked on his stool, Spike jumping forward to keep him up straight. Feeling like the metal in his head came loose, Angel shook in his chair, eyes shut. The images passed before his eyes, vivid and brilliant.   
  
"Vision!" Buffy whispered harshly, moving close to Angel, eyes scanning the room and back to her. She reached forward, embracing him, looking at him worriedly.   
  
Blurred images ran through Angel's mind, some hard to interpret. A girl, hazel eyes flashing, tanned and beautiful, fighting some demons. A scream, and blood on the pavement. The alley where this was taking place looked familiar.   
  
"Angel...What is it?" Buffy asked him urgently.   
  
"A girl..." Angel said, voice hoarse, blinking rapidly. "She was fighting some...Some demon. Hazel eyes, dark brown hair. I think it was outside...Alley behind the bar, maybe...Maybe close to Pearson..."   
  
Spike listened intently, fingers straying from his bottle of beer. Thin fingers then draped across his own, a tanned arm running over his shoulder like a snake. Spike looked up, that familiar devilish grin coming onto his face. Faith cocked her head, giving Spike a slow kiss on the mouth.   
  
"What's going on?" The second Slayer asked, looking to Spike, before glancing to Angel, a pale hand on his furrowed brow. Buffy removed her hold on Angel, coming over to Faith.   
  
"Angel just had a vision. We're going out," Buffy explained, a curt tone.   
  
"We can't!" Faith bit her lip. "You know Jacob and his posse are due in here by eleven. They show up and see us throwin' the big to-do outside, you know they'll figure something's up."   
  
Spike kissed her fingers, letting her drape her arm across his shoulder for support. "Right, love. We've been at this too long to mess up now."   
  
"Fine. Angel–" Buffy looked over at Angel, but he was already gone, the back entrance door slamming, a flash of a dark gray duster.   
  
*   
  
_"I didn't know WHAT was going on. You probably think I'm crazy. You're not far from the truth. All it took was the trigger…the trigger that cost me everything."   
  
"The cause of all this?"   
  
"Yeah. Thing is, I don't have any clue as to WHAT the trigger is."_   


* * *

**Part 3**

"Now look...You guys don't wanna do this...I bet you're workin' on Union hours, right?"   
  
The demons looked at her, and she knew that if they were human, their eyebrows would've been raised.   
  
"Ignore her insults. Kill the wench," said the big bruiser of a demon holding her left arm. The demons nodded, one coming up close and jamming a knife into her side. She winced, flesh feeling as if it was on fire. _Is this poison?_   
  
The blood gushed out of her wounds like a dam of water being released. She felt a rush of dizziness, but stood her ground, head bowing a little.   
  
"Before you die...Tell me about your superiors. Now," Leader said, shoving her up against the wall. Her head slammed against the concrete, stars in her eyes. She was still awake though, as she peered back at him, red filling her vision. She now had a gash on her forehead, a normal one, not the excruciating ones burning her stomach. Blood ran down her cheek.   
  
"Tell me!" he roared, shaking her. She remained quiet, wondering what the hell they were talking about.   
  
"You know, it's not nice to bother a lady like that. You have to ask nicely," a voice said, a figure coming out of the shadows.   
  
The man!   
  
His dark brown orbs narrowed at the large, main demon. "It's proper manners, you know."   
  
"Kill him, as well," said the main demon calmly, releasing his grip on Cordelia, moving forward to the man. Cordelia slumped to the floor, staring through bloody eyes. The first two demons seemed to have regenerative powers, because they stood up, also advancing towards the man, bruised but not beaten.   
  
_They're gonna kill the chivalrous oaf._   
  
But Cordelia watched as the demons threw themselves upon him, and he retaliated with a series of stiff kicks and punches, sending two demons crashing into a nearby dumpster. Staggering to her feet, she joined the fight, snap kicking one demon hard, and shoving another one with brute violence into the same dumpster as his friends. _Four more to go_, Cordelia counted.   
  
She watched as the man moved towards her, panting. "Look, you better get out of here."   
  
"I'm staying to fight with you."   
  
"But–"   
  
The other smaller demons attacked, yelling and waving their weapons. At the same moment, both Cordelia and the man lashed out violently at them, kicking them ferociously. Cordelia dislocated one demon's arm, while as the man snapped the other demon's neck.   
  
"You have to teach me how to do that!"   
  
"Look, miss, get some cover," the man said, a tone of strained patience in his voice. Cordelia looked towards him, a determined look on her face. He towered over her, almost a head separating them. His dark brown eyes looked so adventurous, yet so sad… Face contorted in worse than a vampire's grimace…He was stooped slightly, panting. The right leg was stiffer than the other, an explanation for his unusual gait.   
  
And right behind him, came one of the larger demons. A sword in his hands, he lunged forward, prepared to shove his weapon into the man's back, into his heart.   
  
Cordelia roughly shoved the man to her left, and he fell to the ground. In a split second, she leaped forward, tackling the demon roughly. They struggled on the ground for a moment, but she soon overcame him. The blood on her small, concealed knife was evident of that. She rolled off of him, rolling on top of the man, his own brown eyes gazing into her hazel ones.   
  
*   
  
  
Things had suddenly became very confusing.   
  
He had that vision, Angel coming outside, only to find nothing in the alley. But his vision sense…whatever that was, picked up the pack of demons, and a girl, he knew, who was different. Not in a bad way, but she didn't exactly seem like a human or a vampire, either. He was confused because of this, but he trudged along the alley anyway, only to find the scene of violence unfurling before him.   
  
She was pretty all right. Deep, dark hazel eyes, almost brown, rose lips, and dark brown hair. Her skin was tanned, more so than Buffy. This girl loved the sun… something he'd never get used to. There was a sense of familiarity in the air around her, but he couldn't quite place where he had seen her before. He may have been over two hundred and forty years old, and have a good memory, but he couldn't remember everything. And he didn't want to remember everything, sometimes.   
  
So he had joined in the fight. She was a remarkably good fighter, strong and determined too. Not one to listen to orders, he had noted. But after this scene of violence, she had shoved him aside. She had tackled the demon about to kill him behind him. But why?   
  
Her movements were fluid, evidence of years of training. Not a vampire, he knew. Even though he was human now, he still remembered the telltale signs.   
  
She stared at him with surprised eyes. "I-I'm sorry..." she mumbled, rolling off of him and standing up, almost embarrassed. The blood was now trickling onto her shirt. There was pain in her eyes, but she managed to hide it well…Except for the bruise around her mid section. Her jacket was in the way, but Angel could tell she was bleeding profusely, even though the dark material hid the blood.   
  
He could smell the blood, and it nauseated him.   
  
Stumbling to his feet, he stared at her, already tired from the previous fight. Turning his head, he noticed that the main demon had used that distraction to his advantage and ran. Angel turned back to Cordelia, who was already staring at him.   
  
"You're – human," He said slowly, knowing how stupid that sounded.   
  
"Ya think?" the girl retorted, giving him a weird look. A familiar one. Barely constrained fascination of a macabre nature. A look of disgust that soon gave way to neutrality.   
  
"This...This doesn't make any sense. How can you…" He looked at the ravaged alley, then to her.   
  
"What?" She moved closer to him, reaching towards his forehead. He had a cut from the scuffle. He pulled away from her, ducking low. "You are too," She added, looking at him as if he was an organism under a microscope lense.   
  
"Who are you?" Angel asked, keeping his guard up. Progressing…good. Usually Buffy handled these cases, since he didn't want to drive away potential clients by letting them get a good look at him. The accident prevented him from fully functioning in this world, but he knew deep down that he deserved it.   
  
"I'm– no one." She bit her lip, hand pressed against her stomach.   
  
"You're lying," he said carefully, straightening up. His wounds were aching, and he knew he couldn't take her on, even though she was tired from the previous fight. He had hung back a while before, hearing the demon ask her about 'superiors'. Maybe she was a tool of Wolfram and Hart, hence his questioning.   
  
"I'm not lying. I'm telling you the truth."   
  
"You're lying, again," He repeated, feeling reluctant to hurt her in any way. Sure, he was no longer the warrior, but the messenger… Yet he had no qualm about the vision's targets. They could be good or evil. Taking a step towards her, she looked at him, blood trickling into her eyes, mixing it with the tears sliding down her cheeks.   
  
But then he looked into her eyes, seeing a rush of emotions. Pain, hurt, and anger… The look of someone who got through the world, through everything with an outer shell. Never letting anything in. But she was so vulnerable now, and needed someone. He knew it; he felt it from the bottom of his heart, which beat.   
  
As if she could read what he was thinking, she nodded, taking a step forward. She then staggered, and fell. He caught her in his arms, embracing her as he glanced towards the deep cuts on her abdomen. She looked at him with scared wide eyes, and then they closed, as she went unconscious, faintly feeling the warm and comforting touch he gave her.   
  
Angel didn't know what he was feeling. He felt as if holding this girl, hugging this mysterious warrior was everything that he needed in the world for the moment. He lightly rested his chin upon her head, his eyes closed, stroking her hair. Holding her close, he didn't notice as three people exited the bar behind him.   
  
Buffy, Spike, and Faith jogged towards them, worse for the wear, fearing something was wrong. But then they happened upon their friend, in the arms of a total stranger. Exchanging glances, the three were shocked, but too sore to complain about it. Evidently, Faith was right. As soon as Angel left, Buffy was a split second from taking off after him, but it seemed Jacob and his crew arrived early. The three had gone out the side door, and into the melee. They killed about six vampires, before the rest retreated. It was to no use, since they'd get them anyway.   
  
"Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds," Faith interjected in the silence. Startled, Angel straightened, holding Cordelia at an arm's length. Blinking, he looked down at the ground, glancing up towards Buffy. The Slayer raised an eyebrow at him, looking more or less curious.   
  
She leaned a bit to see the face of the girl through dark hair streaming down. There was a small sense of déjà vu, but it left just as quickly.   
  
"Angel. Are you all right?" Buffy asked carefully, concern filling her voice.   
  
He nodded mutely, looking to her. "Yeah. Bruised a bit. I'll live."   
  
"I think the bartender called the cops..." Faith continued, motioning her hands towards the end of the alley, the distant flashing of red and blue, and the sound of sirens.   
  
"Yeah. Let's go," Spike said, slightly pushing Buffy and Faith into the opposite direction of the cops.   
  
Nodding, Angel pulled the girl to her feet. He nodded to Spike, who gave him a hand. They half-dragged, half-carried the girl in their arms to the convertible. She was remarkably light, but he didn't care, he just wanted to get her someplace safe, to tend to her wounds. So the four headed off into the night, away from the law enforcement.   
  
*   
  
_"You took her home with you."   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Did your girlfriend object to that?"   
  
"…What exactly are you getting at?"   
  
"Well, I just think it's a little odd that your girlfriend– Buffy, is that correct?– who as you've said, has shown strong vibes of jealousy towards other women in the past, would agree to your choice of bringing an exceptional looking young woman home with you."   
  
"…What the hell? So I could what? That I wanted to __fuck_ her 'cause she was helpless and lonely, is that what you're saying?"   
  
"Angel, calm down. That is not what I am saying."   
  
"No. I'm tired of this. I'm telling you what I know, all right? You already think I'm crazy, so what's the point anyway?"   
  
"Look. I'm trying to help you. At least give me that much."   
  
"…I just wanted to help her. I had this… this vibe. Like she'd say. I didn't know how things would take off from there. I didn't know that sooner or later I'd be sitting here, going through all this *damn* questioning, wondering what the hell happened, and why the hell I'm STUCK in this nightmare!"   
  
"Angel! Please!"   
  
"You want the rest of the story, or should I just shut up now?"   
  
"Continue, if you please."   
  
"All right then."   
  
*   
  
"Uhn..." Cordelia groaned, moving her head back, hitting something hard behind her. She turned her head slightly, seeing the backboard of a bed. Looking forward, she sat up, noticing she wasn't wearing anything, except for her black lace bra and panties. An ace bandage was around her waist, some blood stains on it. She rubbed her eyes, touching her forehead to feel another bandage there, a small one.   
  
_Where the hell am I?_   
  
She remembered the events of the past night, and lay back down, wondering.   
  
_That wasn't a dream. It was all too real. But then...Where is that man?_   
  
Looking around, Cordelia noticed the place was exceptionally well furnished. The walls were a light forest green, the curtains and rug were dark forest green. Most of the furniture was dark mahogany. The covers on the queen size bed she was on were of deep crimson.   
  
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.   
  
"Is it okay if I come in? I have some clothes for you."   
  
A familiar voice. It was the man.   
  
"Okay. Just a second," she responded, standing up and covering herself in the sheet. She walked over to the door, opening it. He was there, wearing a dark green thin sweater, and black pants. An awkward moment followed, and he looked away, holding out to her the bundle of clothes in his hand, a frown present on his face.   
  
"My, uh...Associate, Buffy, has some extra clothes here. For you."   
  
"Thanks," she said sweetly, walking into the room and behind the old fashioned partition, looking at the clothes. A pair of light blue jeans and a white T-shirt. "You can come in. I'll be finished in a second."   
  
Angel went into the room, sitting on the side of the bed. He waited patiently for her to finish, and a few minutes later, she did. She came out from behind the partition, going over to the bed and sitting down on it. She leaned back, resting on her elbows, looking over at him.   
  
"So..." She yawned a little, a bit of a smirk on her face. "What's your name? We weren't properly introduced."   
  
"Angel."   
  
"You're kidding me. That's your name?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
Resisting the urge to make a foul remark, she settled for instead saying, "Isn't that appropriate..." Another slight yawn, evidence that she'd gone to bed late. "So, do you just like hanging around bars, saving damsels in distress?"   
  
"What's your name?" Angel asked, avoiding her question.   
  
"Cordelia," She said without pause, before a lazy smile appeared on her face, then a slight giggle. She sounded how she looked, like a teenager when she laughed. The girl looked very young, very familiar, but Angel couldn't quite place it. "Cordelia Chase."   
  
*   
  
_"Wait a minute."   
  
"What?"   
  
"You mentioned earlier about the event at the beginning. You were with another woman. Her name was Cordelia. Didn't you think it was odd that this new woman shows up in your life, with the same exact name at the time, right after that dream?"   
  
"It wasn't… I didn't remember that dream…whatever it was. I didn't remember that it ever happened at the time she told me her name. But just now, I remember that happened. See… I'm getting these flashbacks. Memories, events, things I've never seen before. They're like flashes. And I don't know WHY."   
  
"Okay. Go on."_   
  
*   
  
Again, that nagging feeling, a memory tugging, yearning to be free…   
  
"What I'd like to know...is why were you there?" Cordelia asked, shaking him out of his little dream world. She looked into his eyes, a glimmer of seriousness in her fascinating eyes.   
  
"I..."   
  
"Oh, come on. You can tell me. Unless...If you feel uncomfortable, you don't have to..."   
  
"No, no. It's not that. It's just that...There are some things you wouldn't like to know about me." Angel replied, looking at his hands again.   
  
Another laugh. "I'm not exactly a poster girl for the Humane Society myself."   
  
Angel grinned. He loved the way she laughed. He loved the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. He loved the way she'd twirl that rebellious strand of hair around her pointer finger. He loved the way the corners of her mouth turned upwards in a smile, a real, genuine smile.   
  
"Tell me EVERYTHING," she instructed, smiling warmly.   
  
"You have two hours?"   
  
"I've got all day."   
  
That smile again…   
  
_Whoa...Get a hold of yourself, man_, Angel thought, pushing those thoughts of wanting and admiring aside. One girl. Soulmate. Buffy Summers, his TRUE love.   
  
He found a captive and waiting audience though. Best not to disappoint the girl.   
  
So, for the next two hours, he poured out his heart to her, getting insightful remarks and interruptions from Cordelia. He told her about his raising in Galway, Ireland. About Darla. Spike and Dru. Some of the things he did. How he regained his soul. A basic explanation of the near-century of remorse that followed.   
  
How he met Buffy, and fell in love with her. How he protected and defended the Sunnydale-on-the-Hellmouth with the Scooby Gang. His moment of true happiness and passion with the Slayer. The things he did when he was Angelus once again. How Buffy had sent him to Hell, to save the world, and how he came back, but never again into the arms of the Slayer.   
  
"...So I left. I came to LA. To make amends. I never did get to say good bye to Buffy. But she reminded me of that."   
  
The Mohra's blood. It was bliss, until he saw that he was weak as a human. He'd give anything for this girl, but he needed to save lives instead. He was just ready to go and revoke the spell…but she'd given him a reason not to.   
  
He stayed as a human with her. Fate's decision.   
  
Stayed until that fateful night, when the accident happened. He didn't say the specifics. Only that he'd woken up nearly three weeks later, looking like he did now.   
  
"There are many people in this city who need a helping hand. And I try to be there, to be that helping hand. It isn't easy, but the small things, the little ways you can have redemption ... They count."   
  
She nodded, enraptured in his story.   
  
"What about you?" he asked her, looking at her. His eyes roamed across her body, her curves for a quick moment. He watched her sigh, watched her roll over on her side on the bed, facing him. She had a beautiful smile on her face…   
  
_Why am I thinking about her like that?_ Angel wondered. _Cordelia's definitely not Buffy, that's for sure. I barely know her. It's not like I love her. I don't. But she's so...intriguing. It must've been something if I brought her home with me. God...I'm acting like a teenager here._   
  
"In comparison? Boring story about me anyway..." Cordelia leered, then noticed the interested look on his face.   
  
She was thinking the same thoughts he was, about him.   
  
Cordelia loved the way he had that brooding look on his face. She loved his hair, dark brown and tousled, his stature, tall and lean, and his gorgeous brown eyes. Fearful yet controlled. She also loved how he discreetly turned away from looking at her, trying to avoid eye contact. Trying to hide his constant staring.   
  
He probably felt the need to not let her get a good look at him because of his face. Cordelia knew she was vain in certain…well, sometimes numerous areas. The guy had to be good looking, know a mean right hook, well off, intelligent. Hence, her small list of suitors. That old adage, 'don't judge a book by its cover' applied here. Here was a man who was not good looking, but had a good heart, an intelligent mind, and an old soul.   
  
"I was raised in New York City. Mom died when I was little. Vampires did it. I didn't care what happened to my father, since he was never around." Her voice grew colder, eyes staring off into space. "I lived on the streets, picking up jobs once in a while. Grandparents took care of me, made sure I went to school. Once I graduated, I pulled out, and went slaying."   
  
She was not right; her story wasn't boring. _More like sad_, Angel thought. Evidently, she grew up to hate vampires, her only goal was to track them down, and other creatures of the night as well.   
  
Angel shifted on his place at the foot of the bed. He leaned a little in that way of his, never sitting up straight. Strands of dark brown hair getting into his eyes, he shook his head to move them out of the way. Cordelia leaned back on her elbows, staring intently at him. After she finished her sad story, he canted his head.   
  
It seemed so familiar. Almost like Faith, but…not her. Someone else.   
  
"You grew up to hate vampires," Angel said at length, letting a captured breath free. "I don't blame you."   
  
"But you're not one, anymore…right?" After receiving a shake of his head and some mouthed words, Cordelia continued. "Good. 'Cause I remember hearing something about you - before? A vampire in L.A., trying to help people. I didn't believe it at first, but then… I thought maybe, just maybe it could be possible. Word of your soul traveled fast. Still… I didn't think too much of it, even after I heard you became one of the living. But you still run the agency? 'Angel Investigations'."   
  
_–"We help the–"–_   
  
"–Hopeless. Right?"   
  
Blinking to see clearly, Angel's eyes narrowed when looking at her. She just– There was that other girl in her place, a phone in hand, grinning widely. But then, if that other–   
  
"Angel? You all right?"   
  
He caught himself staring at her, then quickly averted his eyes to look down at the floor. In a terse tone, he responded. "Why don't you head downstairs and Buffy can make you some coffee? I'll be down in a minute."   
  
She noticed his hesitancy, and let it pass. He was obviously uncomfortable with letting people know the real 'him'– what with his physical appearance and the way he carried himself, Angel appeared to be a loner. And he also didn't seem to want to change that anytime soon. He was reclusive, dodgy at times, but seemed to have a genuine wish to be truthful to his cause by any means possible.   
  
"Okay. See you in a few," Cordelia said slowly, trying to pour some cheerfulness into her voice, without sounding fake. She could tell it was one of those 'needing to be alone' moments, after having them so often. The girl sprung up from her place on the bed like a jungle feline. She padded her way to the door, before taking a last glimpse and then exiting.   
  
Angel sighed deeply, hand on his forehead. "Great. Just flip out a couple more times around her, and she'll bill me as the Joker. As far as disfigurement and insanity goes. Not with the makeup."   
  
Lying back on the bed with a small flourish, Angel stared up at the ceiling. Almost searching for a sign, you could call it. Thinking of excuses for not running down immediately, Angel smiled despite himself. She was a very good listener, and actually paid attention to the poor man.   
  
Tracing fingers over the scar of his right jaw, his smile soon faded afterwards. But what were the chances a girl like that could be friends with a guy like him?   
  
*   
  
_"I didn't know how she was feeling. I could guess she was uncomfortable. Who wouldn't be? All I knew was that I'd seen her somewhere before. You know when you're dreaming, and you see something, then see it for the first time a few days later? Or maybe even the next day? That's how it was. Only, I'd never seen her before in my life. I knew there was something special about her, but I couldn't quite place it."   
  
"You mean déjà vu, right?"   
  
"No, no. This one ran stronger. It was a premonition."   
  
"Premonition?"   
  
"Of what was to come. Something I generally didn't expect."_   
  
*   
  
"So, why're you here in L.A?" Buffy asked, looking at Cordelia. She, Cordelia, and Faith were having a talk while Angel…She didn't know what Angel was doing. It seemed rude in a way, if he was still upstairs and did not come down to greet their visitor. But Buffy got used to Angel's sense of loneliness, how he avoided others. Even before Los Angeles, he'd always been like that. Though some of it was on the Scooby Gang's fault, Angel just kept to himself.   
  
Now more than ever, after what happened. He hardly went out into the daylight, preferring to travel only when they were on a mission. Still, mind coming back to the present, Buffy frowned. It was eleven in the morning, and traces of steam rose into the air from the two coffee mugs on the coffee table. Faith preferred to lean against the office counter a while away, sharpening an axe blade.   
  
"I have some things to take care of here," Cordelia replied, sprawling comfortably on a plush easy chair.   
  
"Right," Faith said, noticing how guarded Cordelia seemed when asked that question. "You don't look like you live around here."   
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, looking intently over at her. Faith felt as if she could bore holes straight into her brain.   
  
"She means that you have this whole...un-californian look. Like, clothes or something? Are you from the east?" Buffy pummeled Cordelia with questions.   
  
"Something like that," Cordelia smiled, shrugging. "I travel a lot."   
  
"Oh. Really?" Buffy looked interested, leaning forward in her seat. "Travel. Something we hardly get to do. Places such as…?"   
  
"New York. Boston. Stuff like that." Her tone was guarded, posture slack.   
  
Faith seemed to perk up, eyes lifting from her task. "Boston?" She traveled a lot back in the day, but Boston was her home.   
  
"Yeah. Pretty chilly when I went," Cordelia replied, leaning forward to pick up her mug. She took a sip with both hands firmly grasping the mug, leaning back. Silence hung in the air, voices caught in throats. Only the sound of the sharpening block in Faith's hand could be heard, scratching the metal smooth.   
  
A step on the staircase was heard. One, two seconds. Then the other came fast. One. Two. Slow step. Fast. One. Two. Slow step. The sound of a foot being stalled, just slightly, erratic. Angel came down the staircase, stopping at the bottom landing. Three sets of eyes turned to him, before discreetly glancing away. He missed the sense of attention on him sometimes, how everyone used to look at him with lower authority, hanging on every word.   
  
Now they just gave the required once over, before turning away.   
  
He adjusted the sleeves of his thin, dark green sweater, rubbing his hands together. Nodding to Cordelia, Angel looked over at Buffy.   
  
"Buffy. You two talked?"   
  
"Three. Standing right here," Faith pointed out, giving a wave with two fingers.   
  
"Three, three." Angel nodded to Faith. He saw Cordelia look over at him out of the corner of his eye. Looking over at her, he watched her eyes lock on his, and he was the first to pull away.   
  
To Buffy. "So. How's things?"   
  
"We're good. Girl talk. You know how it goes," Buffy answered, shrugging. She perked up, posture now straight. "Oh, Angel, I almost forgot. Spike checked out another contact, and we found another nest connected to Jacob. Hence, our getting ready. If we go in fast, right at noon, they won't put up much resistance."   
  
A far away look crossed his face, before he closed his slightly parted mouth. "Good. All right then. We'll go in."   
  
Cordelia raised an eyebrow, seeing Buffy stand up and move to his side. She whispered something in his ear, pulling back an inch, smiling. He gave a little smile, before it faded when she kissed his cheek briefly, gesturing to Faith. Stopping her sword sharpening, Faith followed Buffy up the staircase, participating in some quiet small talk.   
  
They were alone.   
  
"So, uh, how are you?" Angel cleared his throat, voice scratchy. "I mean, I know it's been eight minutes or so since I last saw you, but things can change in…that… amount of– time."   
  
_Lame. LAME!_ Angel thought. The boy needed to take a class on this kind of thing.   
  
"Uh. Right." Cordelia took a nervous sip of her coffee, getting up and going to the office counter. She reached over where the coffee pot was, sugar packets now in her hand. Opening one packet, the girl let the sugar trickle into the coffee, free hand using a stirrer. "Tell your girlfriend that she'd better stick to her day job."   
  
Angel laughed a bit too loud, grinning. He was near the counter, smacking it lightly to show his amusement. Getting a blank stare from Cordelia in response, Angel coughed a bit, scratching the back of his head. _Chalk up another point for the Disfigured Loser Trying To Appear Cool board._   
  
"Eh heh…Heh." He watched her crumple the packet into a tiny paper ball, making a sweeping motion with her other hand and picking up the mug.   
  
Reality set in once again, making him take a step back and analyze the situation. Beautiful girl barely coping with ugly idiot trying to ruin her morning coffee break by spouting incoherent phrases. Niiiice.   
  
He wondered why he was getting like this. The devil-may-care attitude left him, and here he was: trying to be sociable, funny, and putting on airs. If Buffy saw this act, she'd congratulate him. Or maybe give him a cookie. At least, that's what she joked anyway.   
  
"I think we're going to go soon. Getting there early and viewing the layout and situation always helps," Angel explained, trying a different, easier subject. "You…don't happen to have any weapons on you, do you?"   
  
"Why? You think I'm gonna mug you?" Laughing a little, Cordelia placed the mug back on the counter. She raised her fists for a few seconds, letting them fall gently to her sides. "Only these for protection. Low maintenance, but it's fine with me."   
  
He stared at her for a second too long, snapping out of his funk. "Right, right." Briefly looking through the weapon's cabinet near the staircase, Angel handed a short sword and sheath to her.   
  
"Think you can handle that?"   
  
"Not your run of the mill stake, but yeah. I'm good." Cordelia waved the sword in a slow arc, a glint in her eyes.   
  
He picked up his trenchcoat from the coat rack nearby, slipping it on. "We can wait for them outside in the truck."   
  
"Truck?"   
  
Angel gestured to the back door, walking towards it. She fell in step beside him, carefully holding the sheath.   
  
"Out back. You and I will ride in the front," he explained, a fluid motion of his hand pulling the black sunglasses from his pocket and putting them on.   
  
Cordelia nodded, following still. "Okay."   
  
They walked into the sunlight, side by side, trying to push random thoughts out of their heads.   
  
Starting the brand new day with confused minds, lingering wishes and slaying intentions.   
  
  
Continue on...   
  



	2. Chapter 4

Title: **If There Never Was**   
Author: **Ignited**  
Posted: 03-11-2002  
Email: Ignited   
Category: Romance, Drama, Angst, AU-ish   
Rating: R for language and sexual situations   
Spoilers: Everything up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of speculation here   
Summary: One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind…   
Distribution: Disharmony, List archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!   
Dedication: To Steffi and Kath– for always believing in me, plus generally being helpful, caring, and showing good input. And to Melissa and Christie, who are fic goddesses and great friends. This one's for you.   
Author's Notes: This has been sitting in my computer since June, at least. Along with two other fanfics that I planned to write, but unfortunately have no time to put real thought into them. So, this is a combination of three different ideas. With the emergence of _Vanilla Sky_, a similar but distinctly different story, I decided to finally complete this minor story, of which has turned into a full fledged monstrosity of a fic. It's my seriously screwed up and basically nothing alike, take on _Vanilla Sky._ Open minds are required, please…   


* * *

**Chapter Four**   
  
"Buffy, you got a lot of guts stayin' here."   
  
The Slayer looked at her counterpart, blonde and brunette in the room belonging to her and Angel. Buffy shook her head ruefully, fitting the stakes in her belt. She could see Faith in the mirror, leaning her boot on the chair near the bed, lacing it up. Glancing at the mirror, Buffy touched her hair gingerly, checking to see that if was in place, immaculate.   
  
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, a slight giggle at the end of her sentence.   
  
Faith finished, standing up straight and then stretching to reach her toes. "You know. Angel."   
  
"Angel?" Buffy opened her stick of lip-gloss. "He's capable of taking care of himself."   
  
"Oh really?" Faith sounded sarcastic. "He can barely take a shit without you fussing over him."   
  
Her hands faltered. She lowered the lip-gloss, looking at Faith's reflection in the mirror. "That's not true."   
  
"Yeah, it is. You know it. Fuck Buffy, we all know it. We just don't say shit about it. You're treating Angel like shit."   
  
Not wanting to fight, Buffy applied her lip-gloss. "Faith, you know that isn't fair. Or true, either."   
  
"'That's not true, Faith. I am but a servant to the world! I am a Slaaaaayer,'" Faith started, trying to imitate Buffy while climbing up on the bed. She jumped a little in place a few times, going on and laughing.   
  
"Faith, cut it," Buffy snapped tersely. She put the cap on the lip-gloss, turning around. "Cut it out! You could break your neck!"   
  
The brunette Slayer stopped jumped in place, a warm smirk appearing on those dark features. She crossed her arms. "What did I tell you? Even fussing about other people, too."   
  
She received a sigh in response. Buffy walked over to the bed after tossing the item of makeup onto the drawer top. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped while Faith jumped and sat down next to her with a flourish.   
  
"After what happened to Angel, I'm…kinda petrified," Buffy admitted, staring at her fingers. She gave a small smile and laugh, shaking her head slowly. "I'm just afraid that'll happen again. That I'll lose him. That I'll lose someone else. You. Heck, even Spike," she added sarcastically, scrunching her nose.   
  
Faith nodded demurely, examining her nails for a second. She then clamped a strong hand on Buffy's thigh. "You gotta let him go, girl. Let him breathe. Because it's bad enough for him to be what he is today."   
  
Standing up, Faith rolled her eyes, looking down at Buffy. "Shit. Now you got me talkin' like an after school special. Try to let him do what he wants. He's human, yeah, but still all 'tortured' and 200 plus. And he's a GUY. You know how they get."   
  
Rolling her shoulder muscles, Buffy looked up. That small smile of hers appeared. "I guess you're right."   
  
"'Cause if you don't, I might have to move in and show the little boy some loooove," Faith grinned, joking. She growled a bit, arms raising as she dance in place, hips swaying. Buffy shouted at her, a carefree tone as she plucked a pillow from the bed and threw it playfully at Faith.   
  
_Yeah. Let him breathe. I can do that._   
  
*   
  
Swiftly guided by the morning rays, Angel's pickup truck slowed at the sidewalk curb. He killed the ignition, staring straight ahead. A rumble in the back sounded, and soon those two lithe figures jumped up and out of the open back compartment. Buffy and Faith made their way to the small, abandoned building while Cordelia's hand lingered on the door handle.   
  
Angel looked over at her, concerned. "Is there a problem?"   
  
Cordelia shook her head, shrugging. As he took his sunglasses off, she pointed to the window. "Nah. Just a little unsettling to see how gung-ho those two are. Usually I'm stuck on patrol with lame asses who can't fight for shit."   
  
Her eyes opened wide, before blurting out, "No offense."   
  
_Just rub more salt into the wound, why don't you, Chase?_   
  
Glancing to the driver's seat, she noticed the door was shut. Angel had already gotten out of the truck, moving to the back.   
  
"None taken," Angel answered, lifting a dirty leather bag from the back. Cordelia hopped out of the truck, slamming her door shut. Sword and sheath firmly attached to her belt, the girl stood by as Angel rummaged through the bag, picking up a crossbow and a stake.   
  
"Aerial combat sorta. Nice," Cordelia complimented, looking at the crossbow.   
  
Angel nodded to the warehouse, starting forward. "If you think shooting on the sidelines is, then yeah. Nice."   
  
He looked at her for a moment, then continued, "You didn't have to tag along."   
  
"Well, I want to." Cordelia swung her arms a little, fingers tracing the sword's sheath edge. "There's nothing else to do, and I figure I can even up the score a little."   
  
Condescendingly looking at her with a frown, Angel then sighed.   
  
"I'm going. I'm helping. Deal," Cordelia grunted, looking to the equipment, then to him.   
  
Following close behind him, Cordelia's eyes darted left and right. The place was your typical bad guy alley: strewn garbage, parking lot littered with car parts, dirt. Tire streaks on the concrete, dents and burns on the warehouse metal doors. She almost asked him why he did not seem as motivated as Buffy and Faith to go barging in, but then thought the better of it. He was a private person, she gathered, and if he wanted to tell her anything, then it would be in due time.   
  
"Cordelia."   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"I need some breathing room, you know. Comes with the whole human, need oxygen thing."   
  
Noticing her immediate proximity to him, Cordelia took a step back then entered the warehouse behind him. Whispering low to explain herself, she told him, "I'm just jazzed, I guess. I don't want to see you get hurt."   
  
"Yeah, yeah. I get it," Angel murmured, eyes lifting heavenwards to view the layout of the warehouse. High up in the rafters, stray traces of sunlight streamed down to shine pools of golden light upon the floor. The cracked, dirty windows let sunlight flow in freely, but nearly all of the light was blocked from the dark material tarp, hung up from high above by dusty ropes.   
  
The air was stagnant, dirt and tiny lint floating in the air in swirls, if you paid attention to that kind of thing. Gesturing to her to follow him, Angel slung the strap of his crossbow around his shoulder before climbing up a rusted metal ladder. They were quick and silent in their movements; he helped her up onto the landing of the catwalk.   
  
Before she could open her mouth, Angel shook his head, indicating for her to remain quiet. They continued along the catwalk, Cordelia taking stray glances below. Dusty boxes and old machinery were on the ground, car parts, tow trucks… Other things she couldn't even put a name to. Chains and pipes ran along, and hung down from the ceiling. The whole place smelled of gasoline and oil.   
  
Caught off guard by Angel's sudden stop, Cordelia bumped into him, her closeness startling him slightly. Angel loosened the crossbow, taking it into his hands with the skill of an expert. He looked below, dark eyes scanning the ground before–   
  
–Faith sailed through the air, tumbling over some crates before falling to the ground on her back. She jumped up, slamming a boot into the face of the vampire that threw her, a large meaty brute of a demon, tattoos and piercings galore. She gave him another wallop before screaming in that sexy way of hers.   
  
Buffy backed into the large area surrounded by crates, blocking a blow to her head. She gave a few punches and kicks in retaliation before flipping backwards to stand side by side with Faith. Looking around frantically, Buffy watched as more vampires came pouring in. She guessed the whole biker gang had been bitten, judging from the many outfits of leather and multiple piercings.   
  
"Doesn't that hurt?" Buffy murmured, a fighting position. She was terse in her tone, given the fact that they were seriously outnumbered.   
  
_Oh God…_   
  
Angel closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them, aiming the crossbow. He told Cordelia to run off at his cue and try to untie the ropes of the tarp.   
  
"Angel, you can't–"   
  
"When I tell you, you do it. End of story," Angel clipped, holding the crossbow close. Faith and Buffy were nearly back to back now, and even then, Faith looked calm. Reckless, wild, and that's why Spike likes her so much, Angel guessed.   
  
"Now."   
  
She went off like a bullet, a graceful deadly thing as he released a wooden bolt from the crossbow. Whizzing through the air, it plunged into the heart of one unlucky biker vamp, before a second one fell a few seconds later. Hazel eyes darted up, Buffy's mouth forming the perfect shape of his name before being leaped upon from behind. Faith yelled wildly, slamming two vampires together before dusting them both.   
  
Angel began to reload his crossbow, glancing upward. Cordelia had climbed a ladder, scaling up with the expertise of a gymnast. Lithe, agile and flowing, she reached a rafter, a stern look on her face. Angel heard the click, swoosh, then snap of her sword blade cutting through brittle rope. One corner down. So much more to–   
  
ZING!   
  
"Shit!"   
  
He jerked to the side, moving to take safety in the shadow of a vertical support beam.   
  
_It's not like I have enough to deal with. Now guns? Honestly, what is the demonic underworld coming to?_   
  
Thin enough to fit behind it, Angel continued with the once easier process. Bolt…there…mechanism… It used to be so easy, so simple, and now he was having trouble doing something that should've been like riding a bike.   
  
_Maybe the accident lowered some IQ points, there too. That would explain those visions. I'm slowly going insane, aren't I?_   
  
The echo and clamor of fighting below rose, boxes and metal clanging against the ground after being through. The backward, agonizing scream and whoosh of a vampire dusted followed grunting of tired Slayers. Buffy and Faith kicked and punched their way through the mass, stake after stake meeting countless dead bodies.   
  
But it wasn't enough.   
  
They kept coming.   
  
Finished, he turned from the safety of the beam to fire, but another clamor and shower of bullets nicked the pipes and railings near him. Sparks flew, and Angel ducked repeatedly, very much aware of how easy bullets could puncture human flesh. A vampire felt pain, yes, but it went away soon. The wounds, scars healed.   
  
Unlike him.   
  
_– That brunette, her hair short, streaked blonde, stared at the retreating blonde girl, a vampire with a blue robe on. The girl ran up the staircase, taking a glance back before exiting hurriedly. It was a large area, crates…dark lighting. Behind the curtains of a stage, he surmised. He saw her, but he was in the background, having watched the exchange between them. Without turning her head, sensing him there:   
  
"Don't say anything. Not a word." –_   
  
"Angel!"   
  
Cordelia called his name, cutting another rope loose. So far, some baby streaks of sunlight went down, but not enough to fully work. It was dark in the warehouse, though stuffy and hot inside. She heard Buffy yell, while Faith slammed her fist into one burly vampire's jaw, breaking it.   
  
_Speaking of insanity, there we go,_ Angel thought inwardly, the visions starting up again. He frowned while ducking his head, avoiding the two, three shots fired in his direction again, sparks flying when they connected with metal. _I don't need this right now._   
  
She had called his name…   
  
Two, three, four. Slice, slice, slice. The blade had some resistance, but it would go in. She had some experience in that.   
  
A snap, frayed rope, twirling, untangling–   
  
"AHHHHH!"   
  
Screams and hollering could be heard as the sunlight streamed down from the skylight. The air was dotted with clouds, white against bright robin's egg blue, vanilla falling.   
  
It showered death down, flames rising and enveloping bodies twisting into ashes.   
  
They were gone. But it was hard to tell whom, exactly. The vampires, or the ones who had defeated them.   
  
"Angel! Oh God, are you all right?"   
  
Snapping her head up, Cordelia climbed down slowly from the rafters to see Buffy clamber up the metallic ladder. Angel had slung the crossbow on his back, looking disappointed. Faith remained on the ground floor, looking around and bending down occasionally to sift through the 'sand' of the dead.   
  
The blonde Slayer went up to Angel in a rush, nearly leaping on him. She obviously hesitated, taking a step back before lifting his chin. There was a dark, streaky graze on his brow, blood trickling down his jaw.   
  
"You're hurt," Buffy accused. Her eyes lifted to look at his own darker ones.   
  
Angel frowned, eyes glancing upwards before looking back at her. "It's just a scratch," he pointed out, heartily aware that one bullet grazed his brow.   
  
"I shouldn't have let you come."   
  
"I needed to," Angel retaliated, sounding like a boy getting caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "I can't just stay and sulk around the hotel. I needed some fresh air. You know… To meet people."   
  
He was just about to turn to look in Cordelia's direction when Buffy caressed his cheek, holding him back.   
  
"I don't want you to get hurt. Not in your state."   
  
Cordelia watched quietly as Buffy gave Angel a kiss, a little long one, his face looking no less melancholy than before.   
  
They'd go home, she knew, patch each other up… continue the routine of their daily lives. No matter what Faith shouted from below, or how Angel kept his eyes on the ground, it would be that way.   
  
She wished her life could be so simple.   
  
*   
  
_"That's it? Did you go to the hospital after that to check for more damage?"   
  
"One of the main rules of slaying: Try to keep it as secret as possible, unless the wounds are life threatening. We couldn't just waltz into the hospital at any time. Besides… Buffy and I aren't too comfortable with hospitals."   
  
"Because of the accident."   
  
"Because of the things that's happened to us there. I put her in the hospital. I saw my friends barely clinging to life– comas, loss of blood… I don't like the atmosphere. It creeps me out."   
  
"You? Well, isn't that a little odd?"   
  
"What? Me getting freaked? Once you've been in a high risk car crash, you get fucking freaked out by any little thing."   
  
"I guess you're right. Do you feel up to talking about the accident?"   
  
"…"   
  
"Angel–"   
  
"How about another question?"   
  
"Ah. Okay then. Learning more about your friends can help us figure out what happened too. Do you think you can tell me more about them?"   
  
"I guess."_   
  
*   
  
_Mmm mmm mm Mmm mm mm Mmm mmm… I wanna be sedated.   
  
Shit. Where the hell were the blokes?_ Spike wondered, his incessant 'soundtrack' playing on repeat in his mind. He had thought about this question after entering the hotel through the basement, up from the sewers. Considering the time of day, it was not a good idea to go gallivanting about the bloody sidewalks because of the sun. Also, those overeager and pushy consumers down the street. You throw a damn sale, the people flock to it like maggots to dead flesh.   
  
It reminded him of Drusilla, that metaphor. He always loved those tapered fingers, picturing them squirming and flicking about in an impersonation. Those dark eyes on his untamed baby, her smile like wild horses, free and beautiful.   
  
Dru was gone though, and he opened the fridge in the office for a bite to eat.   
  
Glancing at the rocky road ice cream– God, how his girl loved it– he took the usual container of blood. Blah. Nothing new.   
  
Spike muttered something to himself, looking briefly at the hotel counter. A bus map had been placed on the surface, other papers abound. A red circle shown near a distant block, other red circles at odd places scattered about the map. He knew it was the map of vampire nests connected to that ponce, Jacob… something. Whatever the hell his last name was.   
  
_The boy owes me money_, Spike remembered, decades old nights of debauchery and smoke filled European taverns coming to mind.   
  
This particular circle was new, he could tell. The ink was fresh, red like blood.   
  
He wondered if Faith would let him have a nibble tonight. She didn't exactly like it, but wouldn't mind a nip now and then. Their 'sexcapades' as she called them, were already wild enough.   
  
And to think he was here, working for bloody _Angel_ in Los Angeles, all because he followed the Slayer. To think now, of the aggression and hatred in his heart when he found out he'd been chipped. Rendered useless, feeling much like it until he formed a makeshift agreement with Buffy. They wouldn't cut each other's eyes out, much less kill each other. In Los Angeles, he felt alone until his fallen angel, Faith, showed up…   
  
_Maybe just a nibble, or two. Three would fit._   
  
*   
  
Cordelia Chase felt extremely awkward sitting in Angel's truck. He hadn't spoken at all while they were driving back to the hotel. He merely looked straight ahead, eyes on the road, one hand gripping the steering wheel on the bottom of it. Ever so slightly, he'd move his left hand, left, right…the car would agree with him.   
  
God, she was staring at his damn hands now.   
  
She sighed emphatically, resting her cheek against her palm, elbow on the door. Buffy and Faith were in the back of the truck, occasionally talking or staring at the sights. Daytime in LA, people everywhere. Even if it wasn't nighttime, they were doing their jobs, shopping, talking…fun. That old thing called fun. Where had it gone?   
  
"Cor…delia," Angel began, dark brown eyes still transfixed on the road. "You want– I could put the radio on for you, if you want."   
  
"No. You don't have to," Cordelia dismissed the notion politely, waving a hand.   
  
Angel leaned a bit, flicking the radio on while still driving. He turned the dial, radio blaring some stations before the sound dissolved to static. Muttering, Angel smacked the radio until the sound died abruptly.   
  
"Damn it," he murmured, wincing. Damn thing cut his finger. Jeez. Every single… thing… remember, weakness…   
  
"Here."   
  
Cordelia turned the radio off, then grabbed his hand. Almost mocking a chivalrous gentleman, she gave his pointer finger a small kiss before releasing his hand. After getting a curious glance from Angel, Cordelia shrugged. "There. Made it better."   
  
She nodded knowingly. "It's supposed to work. Or so 'they' say."   
  
A slow smile creeped onto her face as she watched Angel's reaction. What…was.. Ah, there. That was it. A bright flash of a smile. He chuckled to himself at her actions, putting both hands on the wheel as he drove, shaking his head.   
  
He instructed himself to never wash that hand again.   
  
*   
  
"Okay, here's the deal. We have ourselves a bigger problem than we thought."   
  
The five were resting in various places amongst the hotel lobby. Spike leaned forward on the hotel counter, looking at Faith who was seated on top of the counter, legs dangling. Angel and Cordelia sat on the island-like seat in the middle of the lobby, looking toward a less than happy Buffy. It was strategy time, and all Buffy needed was a whip or rod, and she could pass for General Patton, what with the look on her face.   
  
"While I was talking to Angel, Faith snooped around the warehouse. She checked the first floor where we were fighting in, also a side office. Found something. Turns out these creeps might not be as alone as we thought," Buffy drawled, her arms crossed. She unfolded them to reveal a white business card in her hand, passing it to Angel. Untying her ponytail, Buffy shook her hair free, running her fingers through it.   
  
He looked at the card, feeling Cordelia lean over to see it as well.   
  
_Wolfram & Hart_.   
  
Spike's brow furrowed. "The lawyers? What do they need with a bunch of scraggly oafs like the ones you two dusted?"   
  
"Three. Angel pulled off a couple of shots," Cordelia interjected, nearly beaming. Angel gave her a look, flipping the card on his fingers while looking up at Buffy. She looked cute in that olive peasant shirt and blue jeans.   
  
"So they're up to their old tricks again. You'd would think they'd cut that shit after what happened to you," Faith murmured, directing her comment towards Angel.   
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "I think the phrase 'no rest for the wicked' would apply here."   
  
Lost in thought, Angel felt Cordelia's fingers prodding at his side. The look on her face was curious and questioning, but he dismissed the thought of talking back.   
  
"What interest would they have with us?"   
  
"With you, when we last took count. Remember, they didn't care much for your throwing a respected ponce out the window," Spike pointed out, glancing to Faith. She was now twirling a letter opener in her fingers, appreciating the deadly precision of the metal blade.   
  
Angel nodded. "With me." He looked to Buffy for a plausible explanation.   
  
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," she said with resolve. The Slayer's posture straightened even more than her ramrod stance. "Spike, you're going to check out your contacts. Put the squeeze on them and see what you can get."   
  
Her gaze fixed on Faith. "You can go with him, if you want."   
  
Receiving a mock salute from Faith in return, the once rogue Slayer hopped off the counter, joining Spike near the coat rack to grab their jackets before heading for the basement tunnel.   
  
Spike walked by Buffy, a strict tone. He looked hard at her, blue eyes meeting green.   
  
"Be careful."   
  
"I will," she answered, a finger looping onto a belt loop.   
  
Cordelia leaned forward, sitting straight without leaning. She looked at them both, feeling something. An unsure feeling… Two blondes with immeasurable power, Slayer and Vampire, jewel eyes and savage anger when provoked.   
  
Something, both of them… it was unnerving when you thought about it for too long.   
  
Faith walked by them both, blowing a kiss to Buffy before entering the basement. Angel flipped the card on his fingers again, pausing to look at the print on it.   
  
She stared for another minute, the electricity and sheer power of both Buffy and Spike… it seemed frightening. But only for a second, because Spike walked away from Buffy, her lingering eyes following his trenchcoat. Buffy turned to Angel and Cordelia, the latter jerking her head down and right to look over Angel's shoulder.   
  
"Angel, Cordelia… Take a break." To Cordelia, "You've done more than enough."   
  
"It's okay," Cordelia started, head tilting. She looked at Angel, then Buffy, a warm smile. "It's not like I have anyone I know here. Figured I could make sure you guys are all right. You're good people."   
  
Buffy smiled a bit. "Thanks. You don't need to stay around too long though."   
  
Before Cordelia could respond, Buffy looked hard at Angel. "Are you okay?"   
  
Fingers touching the bandage on his brow, the grazed wound was half obscured by rakish bangs. "Considering the amount of pain that I went through after the shot, I survived," he said, remembering her patching his wounds earlier with Cordelia hovering nearby. Antiseptic. Not necessarily a good thing.   
  
_"I survived…"   
  
The tarnished metal hubcap rolled by like a lone tumbleweed on the pavement. Flames licked and burned the air with a slow ferocity as she stumbled over weak feet, eyes streaky. Everything passed in slow motion, Buffy reaching the car with wild eyes. Her fingers gripped the window frame, and it took all she could not to cry out in horror…_   
  
Her throat grew constricted, and all Buffy could manage was a nod, eyes somber and looking to the ground. "I - I'm gonna go see what I can find out. Remember, take it easy. Do something fun."   
  
"We'll be fine," Cordelia told her, leaning forward on her seat to rest elbows on her knees.   
  
With just a serious glance to Angel, Buffy grabbed her canvas bag and jacket before leaving out the back entrance.   
  
There was silence again. Angel cleared his throat, thinking of something to say.   
  
He straightened, an eyebrow raised, not looking directly at her. "You got a ride home? I could take you in the truck, if you don't want to take the bus."   
  
"Oh no, mister. You're not getting rid of me that easily," Cordelia retorted, standing up. She grabbed onto Angel's hand with both hands, pulling him up to his feet. Angel held the W&H card in his free hand, giving another glance before stuffing it into his back pocket.   
  
Angel looked incredulous. _Think. Think before blurting another inane comment._ "And what do you propose we do?"   
  
"Something fun. Slayer's orders."   
  
"Ah, that's right," Angel drawled.   
  
Cordelia gazed at him for a second, then asked, "Do you always listen to Buffy's orders?"   
  
"And that something fun…is?" He wondered, changing the subject.   
  
A smirk flitted onto her face before she dragged him to the coat rack. "Out. We're going out…to a place. For fun. Staying here all day can get boring, you know. I know the perfect place. Drove by it while on the marvelous vehicle of Los Angeles transportation. The bus," Cordelia finished with a nod.   
  
The expression on Angel's face was scrutinizing, or what could pass for it. "Name?"   
  
"Caritas. Some kind of bar. You'll love it."   


* * *

**Chapter Five**   
  
_"She took you to a bar. Did something special happen here, or what?   
  
"If you just want to skip ahead to the good stuff, murder, mystery, intrigue, let me know, doc. But it helps to know what the hell happened prior to that."   
  
"Sorry. It's just that it's been so…ah, informative. But it's getting late. You shouldn't have to stay."   
  
"Oh, don't worry. It's not like I'm going anywhere. For the most part, THEY won't let me."   
  
"Of course. I'm sorry about that. Let's continue, shall we? Was this a bar of significance?"   
  
"In the sense that it was the first step into this nightmare, then yeah."   
  
"Now we're on to something. How so?"   
  
"I'm a private person. I don't like having people concerned or worried about me. I don't even like being around them. Back then… in Sunnydale, where I used to live, there was a club called the Bronze. All the social elite, and social outcasts went to it night after night, skipping homework to dance and have fun. I met Buffy there, countless times. And all I could mostly think about was my embarrassment and decades past.   
  
"This was no exception."_   
  
*   
  
"Cordelia… Are you sure we can just–"   
  
"ANGEL. Relaaaax," came her voice, swaying and grooving form waltzing into the bar doorway. Her hands moved like serpents in front of her, raven tresses cascading down her back, waving because of the way her lovely body danced to the music. She nearly walked down the staircase backwards from looking at him.   
  
Cordelia nearly hopped the distance to the bar. "Don't be such a scaredy cat."   
  
Knowing it was more or less the afternoon, in which drinking was not usually done, Angel sighed. He could not help but stare at her though, watching how she crossed her legs on that impossibly tiny stool. Plain in her white shirt, blue jeans, she leaned over the bar, talking to the bartender.   
  
Leaning, while there was cleava–   
  
THUNK. "Oww."   
  
Angel rubbed his forehead, after having bumped into the security frame at the end of the small staircase. He looked around, seeing the demon clientele. Some… thing was up on the stage singing, tentacles waving about to the lyrics. Ugh.   
  
"You okay, honey?"   
  
A snappily dressed demon in a cream colored suit sidled up to him, red eyes and horns looking quite fashionable. Angel continued holding his forehead, offering a thumb's up to the demon with his other hand. "I'm fine," he grunted.   
  
Cordelia called out to him, whistling. "Angel, get over here."   
  
After he came up to her place at the bar, she yanked the sunglasses off his face. "Who told you wearing sunglasses in buildings was the new thing?"   
  
Avoiding her question, Angel leaned on the bar countertop with his elbow. He took another gaze around the bar, before looking to her. "Couldn't you have picked a better place with less… tentacles?"   
  
Her fingers latched onto a strawberry from the small glass bowl in front of her, a glass of wine nearby. She let her legs dangle and swing from her place on the stool, popping the tip of the strawberry into her mouth. Sucking on it for a second or two, her hazel gaze fell upon the bar, not noticing Angel's staring at her actions. She looked like a little girl sucking her thumb, minus the pigtails and… well, the thumb.   
  
"What other place could I have brought you to, that you would sing in?"   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
Cordelia made a face after swallowing the remaining strawberry whole. It was a remarkable feat. "Did the accident frazzle your hearing too? It's the least you can do after the barrier thing."   
  
Angel rubbed the bridge of his nose, inwardly pointing out that the main thing 'frazzled' was his face. "What - barrier thing?"   
  
"Every time I ask a question about–" She ticked off on her fingers. "The accident, Buffy, the past…whatever, you change the subject. See, you have to do it in a subtle way, you know." A nod. "Woman's intuition."   
  
Angel raised an eyebrow, trying to push out the noise of the warbling demon on stage. "Judging by your tone and the way you act, I'd say it's 'Cordelia's Intuition.'"   
  
She flashed a bright smile, picking up another strawberry. Nibbling on it, Cordelia gestured to the bowl if he wanted any, but he declined. "You-" She licked her fingers. "–have to talk more. Try to get out more. I mean it."   
  
He traced the counter edge, looking down and not meeting her eyes. In a warm tone, almost chuckling to himself, Angel murmured, "When I saved you in the alley, I wasn't looking for a psychic hotline."   
  
"Who says that's not up next?" Cordelia asked slyly, watching the demon nearly fall off the stage in its drunken stupor. "Because…"   
  
She placed the half-eaten strawberry back in the bowl, hopping down off the stool. He seemed so tall in comparison, and must have seemed gigantic in comparison to Buffy. But it was because of his stance, looking thin and gaunt. Now however, he looked at her curiously. Cordelia latched manicured nails onto his wrist, pulling with both hands.   
  
In a quite serious manner and tone, she explained, "You've lost that lovin' feeling."   
  
He opened his mouth to say something, but instead she dragged him in the direction of the stage.   
  
"Out of all people, why do I get dragged to a karaoke bar with someone who's watched _Top Gun_ a few too many times?"   
  
*   
  
"Spike, baby," Faith moaned as her lover slammed her into a brick alley wall. She shoved her there, pressing his body against her. Legs wrapped around his waist underneath his trenchcoat, Faith felt her tapered wooden stake slip from weak fingers. He was moving there…no… again. And again. And–   
  
"Spike…I don't wanna sound like the total priss, but shouldn't we be doin' some… work?" Faith asked in a breathy rasp, searching for blue eyes besides the mussed white blonde hair, his head tilted down.   
  
"Isn't this considered work to you? It's damn well a job, since it's mostly on my part - THIS time, love."   
  
Faith laughed. "God, you're disgusting. Even more than me."   
  
Spike ignored her comment. "What… You want to stop?" His voice was lilting, teasing. "Because of this noble goody-two-shoes thing Buffy put in you, isn't it?"   
  
"Well…" Faith raised an eyebrow, looking heavenwards then back to him. "I figure we should be solvin' this because who knows what other tricks W and H can pull. They might like… set you up by those government guys to get neutered."   
  
Spike winced at the thought. "Good point."   
  
"Not to point out the obvious, but this ain't exactly romantic either," Faith muttered, well aware that Spike could hear her.   
  
"What? Passing on a fuck? And being sex selective?" Spike looked incredulous. "It's… No, not your time of the month yet. I can tell."   
  
She smacked his chest, pushing away. After a moment of scuffling, they pulled apart from each other. She let him zip up his pants while she fixed herself, clearly aware that the boy never wore underwear. "Eeeuugh. My POINT."   
  
His eyes narrowed, an arm slipping around her waist. Pulling her roughly to his side, Spiked sniffed her hair. Rave tresses that curled, and he wondered how it would look like with piling her hair on top like the Old Times. With Dru.   
  
Oh, how he missed her.   
  
Faith punched Spike's midsection lightly, trying to push him away. He kept pressing up against her, and it wasn't long after that she begun to laugh at his actions. A grin appearing on his own face, mission successful, Spike kissed her forehead. Holding her protectively near his side, they walked down the street with a harsh, unseen authority in the air, giggling and laughing all the while. They were happy, carefree.   
  
The perfect Bonnie and Clyde.   
  
*   
  
"I'm NEVER, EVER doing that AGAIN," Angel resolved, putting down the microphone to a few stray clapping. He looked over at Cordelia who was still beaming, nearly taking a few more bows. Angel politely grabbed her arm and yanked her back with a smile to the audience. "You'll never catch me up on that stage, much less any other one ever again."   
  
Her eyes rolled, taking another half bow. "Oh, the travesty, " she drawled.   
  
"Cordelia, this isn't some party. Remember that."   
  
Cordelia's eyes narrowed, leading him off the stage and back to the bar. "Buffy said to relax. I took it to heart. Did you?"   
  
"That's not the point. I–"   
  
He trailed off, just as the green demon in the suit sauntered up to the two of them. Actually, it was more like he hauled his ass over as fast as he could. At least, that's what Cordelia thought. Looking from either one, the demon spoke quickly.   
  
"I'm Lorne, I run this fine establishment. You think you two can go to the back room? I need to talk with you both."   
  
Her eyebrow raised, Cordelia popped another strawberry into her mouth. "And if we don't?"   
  
"It could meant the difference between life or death." Lorne stood slightly crouched to look at both of their reactions. He wasn't moving anytime soon, much to Angel's disappointment.   
  
Looking to Cordelia, she nodded in agreement to him. Angel and Cordelia both stood up, following Lorne into the so-called back room. After taking a glance at the décor, animal prints, rich flowing silk sheets, a mini bar, Angel took a few steps back. "Uh. No one said anything about the portable motel room."   
  
Lorne chuckled. "Oh no, sweetie. This is my room."   
  
Cordelia's eyes narrowed. "If you're looking for a threesome, then you can forget it. I have exceptions only when there are certain movie stars involved."   
  
Lorne shook his head, green hands rubbing together. He looked buzzed, jazzed even, wanting to tell them what was on his mind. Angel shoved his hands deeper into trenchcoat pockets, looking disinterested.   
  
"When you two were up singing, I read you both. I read auras. Feelings. Guide people on their paths, let them do their own choosing, yadda yadda yadda," Lorne said flippantly, starting to pace. He rubbed his pointy chin, then blurted, "But you two! It was like reading four different people!"   
  
"The last time I checked, there was only one of me," Cordelia murmured. "And you're losing me…"   
  
Angel held back another grin (jeez, where did they keep coming from?!) before sitting at the mini bar. He didn't pour himself anything, just sitting there and letting Lorne talk. Cordelia took up a small spot on the edge of the bed, sitting on it.   
  
"I've read hundreds of people, demons, things, whatever. But none of them were like this."   
  
"How so?" Cordelia became attentive, leaning forward.   
  
Lorne's head canted, trying to put it into words. He looked to Angel. "Especially you."   
  
Her eyes lifting, Cordelia looked over at Angel, who raised an eyebrow.   
  
Eyes narrowing, his voice took on a defensive tone. "What the hell did I do?"   
  
"Now, now. No need to get testy."   
  
"Before I fall asleep, do you think you can get to the point? 'Cause I have a nice bowl of strawberries out there with my name on it," she pointed out. Her shoulders slumping, Cordelia yawned. This was getting tiresome.   
  
Lorne turned to Angel. "You're not from around here."   
  
"He's Irish, if that helps. Although minus the wearing green factor," Cordelia added. After getting a look from Angel in her direction, she shrugged. "Sorry."   
  
"No, no. This isn't your world. That's what I'm trying to explain."   
  
At this, both Cordelia and Angel stiffened, their carefree and amused expressions turning cold, harder. She looked at him apprehensively, but all he could managed was a terse nod, indicating for him to go on. Inwardly wishing Lorne good luck– maybe he could open Angel up– Cordelia waited.   
  
"All I could catch in that jumble-o-rama that was your aura, Angel, was the saying 'Your fate lies twisted and broken, as you are'," Lorne surmised.   
  
Twisted.   
  
Broken.   
  
Each with a psychological and physical meaning that described him. Yes, the accident left him… 'that' way, but more so that it wreaked havoc on his personality. He retreated in, anger and aloneness flaring up because of Doyle's death. The visions grew worse and worse, day by day. If he'd been a vampire, maybe he could've handled it.   
  
Or gone insane from the responsibility, the depression, the longing.   
  
He needed something, but he didn't know what, exactly.   
  
Prescriptions, hidden canisters, trips to the doctor. It was a guilty outing, going to get a check up, without Buffy knowing. Which was hard, since she was more attentive to him, because he was human. But he went. And so she did go along with him after all, seeing him in the hospital.   
  
For once, he'd been in the bed, and she was sitting by his side. Talk about turning tables.   
  
Her could feel her hand now, gripping his own hand, squeezing. Her sobbing chest, shaking…moving. Trying to lift something heavy… Everything was so heavy…   
  
"Angel, god damn it!"   
  
Her voice fell on deaf ears, the sound echoing, rising into a cacophony so loud and piercing… But by then he drifted, and could not remember what he had been thinking about before.   
  
*   
  
"Is he going to be okay?"   
  
She knew that the best thing was to remain calm in this sort of situation. But Angel had been burned, scorned before in a unique twist of fate, something he never fully revealed. How had it happened, she wondered, that his life fell apart so easily… Was it because of the injuries, post-accident? Buffy? Did Spike have anything to do with it?   
  
Cordelia felt lost, a puppet pulled by strings controlled by a malevolent force with a name she couldn't read.   
  
A smooth green hand massaged her shoulder, her eyes lifting from that spot on Angel's chest to look up at Lorne. Sitting next to him, while he rested on Lorne's bed, gave her chills. She felt like repeating her question, to make sense of it all, to harden the truth. Angel had collapsed after Lorne told him the eerie phrase. At first, she thought he was joking, but then remembered Angel was at a loss with some– well, a lot of– humor. He had a vision, and instead of relaying the info to her, he went unconscious.   
  
Every fiber of her being screamed that this was bad.   
  
And God, how could she be so involved in… in _him_? Where had the no nonsense, stone cold Chase had gone, the girl with dead parents, taking revenge by killing vampires? Would her mom, her dad turn over in their graves when they found out she was friends with a vampire, a killer much like their own murderer? Sure, it was the past, Angel was human now…but…   
  
They KNEW. She felt it, like spiders running down and up her arms.   
  
"Cordelia…" Lorne hesitated, squeezing her shoulder lightly. She stood up, following him off to the side. A quick glance at Lorne's bed showed Angel still resting, asleep, jacket on a chair nearby, thin sweater collar loosened so he got some air, could breathe.   
  
He needed to breathe…   
  
"What? What is it? I mean, is he gonna be all right, or does he need– He needs to go home. He might have some medication there," Cordelia barked, a mile a minute. She rubbed her arms, Lorne's calming and soothing gaze slowing her pace down. But only for a moment.   
  
"Look… From what I gathered, reading …your auras, he was in an accident a while back, right?" After getting a nod from her, he continued, looking briefly at Angel. "Boy's a seer. But he's human, and not meant to carry the visions. I'd say the cards were stacked against him on those odds, but with this 'bonus'…"   
  
Lorne sighed. "To coin a phrase of Elvis, he's been all shook up. The visions are killing him, his mind, brain to be specific. If you get right down to it, the concussion he had, the pills he's taking, it's a cocktail for primo disastero."   
  
"Angel's going to die?" Her voice was thin, shaky, eyes large and dark, uncomprehending. How could she meet someone, a friend, an actual friend and loose him so fast?   
  
"Lady Luck," Lorne offered, a sad explanation. "The best thing you can do is–"   
  
"How can I make it better?"   
  
Cordelia surprised herself, with this strong burst of hope, poured into a confident question. She didn't know Angel at all. Hell, she shouldn't even BE there. She should be in her motel room, lounging on the couch and smacking the small black and white TV. Sporadically laughing at Lucy anger Ricky again, then whine plaintively, while Cordelia drank hot soda from the busted machine, half clad in revealing underwear.   
  
No. She instead had to get herself cut and beat up, stay overnight at a stranger's house, kill damn vampires with him, care about if he died. If he fucking died, someone she didn't even fucking know.   
  
And it wasn't like he was fucking cute, either.   
  
"You can't," Lorne sputtered, hesitating. Almost saying something, but not.   
  
Eyes growing even more intense, Cordelia noticed his reaction. "What the… You keeping something from me?"   
  
To satisfy her growing concern, Lorne opened his mouth to speak. "All I saw between the two of you was pain, heartbreak, terror. You have a dark past honey, and reflecting on that while opening up, trying to bury yourself in the guilt and shame won't do you any good.   
  
"And Angel, well…" The lounge lizard chuckled. "He's not the prime slice of heaven, contrary to the namesake. But what I couldn't get is that it was like reading two people off of him."   
  
"Two? Like him when he was evil, and now?"   
  
"No, no. That's apart of one of the people. But the other is completely different. It's him."   
  
"What the hell?" Her voice was low, afraid to wake him up. He looked so peaceful, eyes closed, brow furrowed as a dream spurned his anger.   
  
"There's the old him, pre-accident. The new him, now. But the old him still lives on, separate from the new him?" Lorne made a face, rubbing his forehead near red horns. "I have GOT to get myself a nightcap. Woo. Poor honey's like analyzing why Björk wore that swansong outfit last year."   
  
Her mood was tumultuous, shifting and fluctuating like an ocean tide. How could he joke at a time like this? Then again, he didn't really know Angel, so–   
  
"You crack another one and I'll drive your head into the damn wall."   
  
Her sudden remark surprised her, made her feel bad from the apprehensive look on Lorne's face. She was a rambunctious girl, she knew, but those sorts of comments were reserved for the real bad guys. Not for demons, good ones who tried to help. Not for those who collapsed, pain visible physically and mentally…god…   
  
Cordelia dropped her arms, letting out a captured breath. "Sorry. I just…"   
  
Lorne nodded, hands going into jacket pockets. "He's your friend, I get that. You want to open up to him, then fine, but you can't just–"   
  
A stir from the bed resulted in Cordelia ditching the conversation to rush to Angel's side. He moaned, trying to sit up, but she held him down. His dark eyes slowly blinked open, pure confusion on a once handsome face. Angel stole a hard gaze around the room before trying to sit up again, then looked over to her.   
  
He opened his mouth to speak, nothing coming, then found his voice again. "I had a vision."   
  
Trying to not let the obvious 'duh' pass her lips, Cordelia nodded. "Think you're up for relaying info?"   
  
He looked lost all of a sudden, and Cordelia was painfully reminded of how fragile and broken he was.   
  
"I didn't see anything… There was too much. It was just…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. Angel cleared his throat, brow furrowing. "Pain. Extreme pain. And images I couldn't even comprehend. I'm used to the vagueness, but this was unreadable."   
  
She bit her lip then, sitting up straight. "I'm gonna get you home."   
  
"What time is it?"   
  
"You've been out for nearly an hour. I helped with things around here," she lied. Truthfully, she had nearly fallen asleep sitting next to his place on the bed. Fascinated with the little mannerisms, the slight jerking if a nightmare had flitted into his consciousness.   
  
_If it wasn't his damn hands, now I'm staring at him while he's sleeping. Damn it._   
  
"Cordelia."   
  
"Angel. Shhh. Get up. Slowly, okay?" She put a firm hand on his bicep, helping him up. He moved up abruptly, her head was canted, and their foreheads nearly met. Cordelia felt her eyes close, mouth part and–   
  
No. She was not going to–   
  
What the hell was she doing anyway?   
  
They were leaning, and she could hear Angel swallow the lump forming in his throat. Cordelia became aware that Lorne was there, turning discreetly away. Looking over at him, then back showed Angel's side to her, hunched forward. He forced himself to get up and out of the bed.   
  
Without looking at her, eyes focused on the floor, he said, "Let's go home."   
  
And they did.   
  
*   
  
She rapped on the door, flexing her fingers afterwards. They were much too stiff, cold from the lack of heat. It was weird when you thought about it, the temperature So sunny and warm, and now this. Standing out in the dark hallway, a light flickering, buzzing on then off, did not help much either. Maintenance was not a key tactic in this building, and so she waited.   
  
Any day now…   
  
The door opened, after a series of locks had been released. Wearing nothing but an undershirt, flashes of skin revealing scars, blemishes and bruises from fighting endlessly, face in desperate need of a shave. Hardened, cold, he looked beaten but strong. The young man stared at her for a moment, his fingers on the door edge.   
  
"I know... I know we don't really speak often, but I need you. I need you to help me. It's about Angel."   
  
After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "Care to come in?"   
  
"Thanks Wesley," she told him, walking into his apartment. The door closed shut behind her, and one could hear the returned greeting end with the 'funny name'.   
  
Buffy.   


* * *

He wanted her to take her hands off of him, but she wouldn't.   
  
Angel sighed deeply, letting Cordelia hold onto him, help him up the staircase. He considered muttering to himself, but that would take…you know. _More_ energy. So he let her carry on, all the way up, and to his bedroom door. The hallways seemed vacant, morose, unclean and dirty. He didn't bother with the other rooms of the hotel. What for? It wasn't like he had guests staying over.   
  
When they reached his door, the two paused for a moment, her breathing matched his. He was leaning against her now, and she saw out of the corner of her eye, the pain there. Angel tried to hide it, but he looked deathly pale.   
  
He was shaking, too.   
  
Almost as if he read her mind, Angel pushed away from her, standing on his own. He opened the door abruptly, leaning against the frame.   
  
The visions were getting worse. This time he felt his brain nearly explode… Well, it felt like it. The surgery didn't help either. It just amplified the throbbing pain.   
  
Cordelia licked her lips, brushing a long strand of dark brown hair behind her ear.   
  
She saw Buffy's clothes, underwear on his bed.   
  
_Their_ bed.   
  
Buffy and Angel's bed.   
  
Without so much as a look at her, Angel murmured, "Good night, Cordelia."   
  
"Angel, I think I should–"   
  
"I can take care of myself," Angel clipped, head bowed. "You can let yourself out."   
  
The door closed, yet Cordelia could not see him lean against in on the other side, pride gone and the empty shell falling back into place.   
  
*   
  
"Might as well have said, 'Get out, Chase'. But no. He does the sulky brooding thing instead. Honestly, _who_ can put up with that crap?"   
  
Angling the chair so that she leaned the top of her back against the wall, Cordelia yawned. She had no idea why the fuck she was sitting there, much less sleeping. Or hopping a bus a heading for Santa Monica. But no.   
  
No, no, no. That's how all her inner monologues started for… what? Had it been a day already? They'd been gone a few hours, came back, and then went off again to the bar. The 'hour' had been longer than she thought, and the trip back from the bar was tricky. She drove, much to his complaining, but after pointing out he was in no condition to walk, much less drive, he agreed. They came back, and soon it was late in the afternoon, very late.   
  
Night was settling in, darkness shrouding the hotel. It ensnared it like a blanket, outside lights flickering on to show some sign of life. Yet inside, there was only two lives on a daily basis, two people of which one was already half dead.   
  
Well, it went with the saying, 'life imitates art', or something like that. She read it somewhere, once.   
  
Her muscles were cramped, leaning. Sitting up straight and correct in the chair, Cordelia weighed her options. Going into Angel's room was tempting, but she didn't want to risk him giving her the cold shoulder again. Or he might get freaked out with another woman in his room, late at night, and it wasn't Buffy. Hmm. It was possible that he could be horribly scarred underneath his clothes, too.   
  
_That's real good. Underneath his clothes. Great vocabulary there._   
  
When it came to Angel, her mind went two ways. One, the sane and cynical route, screaming at her for staying so long. The normal, the _safe_ way was to just thank him, and leave. However, acting as an Investigator… or whatever they called themselves, suited her just fine.   
  
_This is wrong._   
  
How, how could her normal, smart attitude be overridden with this… this _feeling_ of morality and judgment, and trust…   
  
Disgusted almost by it all, Cordelia stopped slouching and walked over to the window. "I'm outta here," she murmured, but caught her breath.   
  
_I can't just run off yet. What if he needs me… to take care of him, during the night? That vision must have taken a lot out of him._   
  
Through the streaked and dusty glass, she could see a figure walk down the street, right towards the back area of the hotel. Judging by the clothes and hair, Cordelia ventured that it was Buffy. A good, hard look told her it was. The Slayer looked lost, confused almost, but it soon gave way to furtiveness. Stealing a glance left, then right, Buffy continued on her way, avoiding the path that would lead to the hotel and instead sticking close to building shadows.   
  
Every one in a while, Buffy would look back, right behind her, and her brow would furrow slightly. The look was a cross between stubborn and amused, almost like she was struggling to contain a laugh or smirk. But it only happened two or three times before her eyes grew cold and determined.   
  
Looking behind Buffy, Cordelia could see why.   
  
Spike was following her, and neither made their way to the hotel.   
  
*   
  
Faith wondered what was the point of cable.   
  
Besides the sometimes astronomical fee to pay, and the offer of 'dozens of channels!', she found herself checking out the normal, regular channels. Even flipping through them all, infomercial after infomercial, it made no sense. All they did was get her agitated, and she didn't want to bother with the TVGuide.   
  
Feeling itchy, fighty, in need of a good ass kicking, Faith sprawled on the couch. She was deathly bored, and Spike not being there wasn't helping. He knew how she got after slaying something, and now she felt deprived. They found next to nothing while pumping others for information. Nothing on Wolfram and Hart, nor the vampires, or…that girl. Cordelia.   
  
Who, by the way, seemed… weird. And chummy with Angel.   
  
_Hmm. Wonder how B feels about that._   
  
Another glance at the clock, and Faith grew more restless. He still wasn't back yet. And yes, Spike was a vampire, over a century old, could do whatever he wanted. It was night now, the time he used to do things.   
  
But damn, she really wanted a quickie.   
  
Cursing under her breath, Faith knew at this point in the movies, the broken hearted girl would put out the candles and throw the dinner in the trash.   
  
All she had was a can of Coke and some coffee cakes, so less energy was spent.   
  
*   
  
Tired and aching muscles made her cramped, so stiff again. Her fingers were still stiff, and the possibility of premature arthritis, if there was such a thing, popped into her mind. She yawned uncontrollably, her thoughts fading to an hour or so earlier.   
  
…Wesley had been alone in his apartment, weapons laid out on the table. He never spoke to many people, and he appreciated being alone. Their friendship wasn't very …well, friendly, at least not since Sunnydale. He left for England, then came back to Los Angeles, a rogue demon hunter. However, they didn't get close after that, what with Angel refusing to talk to anyone.   
  
Angel stayed up in his room for days, weeks. Every time Buffy would go in, he barely spoke a word to her. All the pain, the anguish and harsh reality hit him then. Human. Hurt. Alone. His friend was gone, and so was the strength and motivation. The visions wracked his mind, strenuous and painful, hard and vague. Vampires could take it, live it down. He was human, therefore he was weak.   
  
Which lead to Wesley's initial questioning of Angel's place, how did he become so alone, he asked Buffy. She told him she didn't know. She damn well tried opening him up, and he didn't want to do anything. He was on the verge, she gathered, from the little Doyle spoke about, right after she decided to stay in Los Angeles.   
  
After a brief Sunnydale trip, she received news that would make her never go back home again.   
  
So there they were. Buffy had sat down across from Wesley at the rickety table, glancing about his apartment. It looked straightened, but with the air of someone who only did it to keep things manageable, able to look through. But not for pleasure, or pride.   
  
"What's wrong with him now?" Wesley asked, blunt in his question. They both were well aware of how they spoke to each other rarely, only in dire situations or coincidental meetings in their field of work. It had been each party's fault, but mostly Angel's.   
  
Buffy sighed, fingers running through blonde hair. She leaned back, a slouching position. "Wolfram and Hart. They're onto him again. Found this while hunting vampires."   
  
She produced the business card from her pocket, flipping it onto the table. Wesley paused from cleaning the trigger mechanism on his crossbow with a rag, to lift and inspect the card.   
  
"And you know for certain that they are after Angel."   
  
"No. I don't. But I figure they're up to their old tricks again. That's why I came to you, to see if you know what's the what," Buffy finished. At his look, she explained, "What's going on. Any new player, force, whatever floats your boat."   
  
Flipping the card as if it were a coin, Wesley handed it back to her. "I know that they're booking a club in a couple of days. Maybe a week, perhaps two. Not entirely clear on that. It's a celebration of some sort. They put in a call for a blockade, for the street. Police."   
  
"Big night." Buffy raised an eyebrow. "What, are they throwing the Oscars?"   
  
Movie premieres and celebrity bashes coming to mind, she merely watched her former 'replacement' watcher put the crossbow down. Wesley leaned forward a little, and his look never ceased to amaze her. Where had the scrawny, wimpy Wes gone, and when had this cold and determined young hunter take his place?   
  
Wesley shrugged. "I'm not sure of the details, but if they are going through all of this, it must be of some importance. Rumors going around that it's a contract signing, perhaps an affiliation of some sort."   
  
Hearing the satisfying and symbolic 'click' in her mind, Buffy grinned. Everything had fallen into the right place. It all clicked.   
  
"Thanks a bunch, Wesley."   
  
His piercing blue eyes lifted briefly, before settling again on the new object of his inspection, a snub-nosed .38 revolver. "No problem…"   
  
And it was at this juncture that Buffy yawned, mind coming back to the present. She leaned and picked up her watch, wishing it was the kind that lit up. All these years spent in the dark, and yet she still couldn't read in it.   
  
It was late, she knew, back muscles flexing against the cool bedsheets. So all that remained was sleep, blissful and painful, warm and haunting memories sliding in and out of her consciousness.   
  
*   
  
_All motion stopped. The air whistled past their faces, gooseflesh erupting because of the temperature. Delicate fingers caressed his brow and cheek, lingering.   
  
"I love you," she told him in all seriousness. "But you have to learn to let me go."––   
  
FLASH! A trail of black oil, blending into the pavement, a deadly snake leading up to two women. Blonde, brunette, both with strong eyes dissolving into fear, as the cigarette went down from his lips. They twisted in flames once the fire caught on… So much screaming…   
  
FLASH! The Mohra demon clutched his head, and howled in agony. A light burst forth from the hole which held the jewel, intensifying until it consumed the demon in a painful supernova. In the sudden stillness, Buffy moved to Angel, and helped him… His head went in her lap, and she stroked his face. In pain and fairly breathless, he inhaled deep lungfulls of air.   
  
"Buffy… are you…"   
  
Her voice was tender, calming. "Don't talk."   
  
Buffy wrapped herself around him, steadying him as she held him close.   
  
"You're all right. That's all that matters. It's over and you're all right and we're together…" she told him, holding him gently.   
  
Angel held Buffy, lingering concern etched on both their faces. He knew that… this couldn't… He couldn't stay a human with her… He could... This… What?   
  
She stroked his face, and he looked at her, consternation plainly visible. But something else filled him, filled the void where that thought had been. A pure, raw desire, wanting and need to feel her. To love her. It ran through his body like the cool jets of a refreshing shower.   
  
Something went over him. The energy, the heat, the… spell. Wait, what was happening?–   
  
He loved Buffy with all of his being, and could not remember what he was so adamant about before.   
  
FLASH! "See his file?" Her voice in his ears, mind far off… Thinking. Needing. He started to smell her hair, of which she was oblivious to.   
  
"He has Visa, Master Card and a problem - he's our target audience. But if you want to be rude, I guess it's your shop... Angel?"   
  
He kept smelling her hair, also running his fingers through it. Dark and silky, curling ever so slightly. So smooth, and she felt so warm…   
  
"What are you...? Personal bubble - PERSONAL BUBBLE!"   
  
––"I can't stay with you until you see the truth."_   
  
"Gahhh!"   
  
Bolting upright in his bed, Angel panted hard, sucking in deep breaths of air. Nightmarish images faded, a surreal reality based on fact and fantasy, a stark comparison to his life. He ran a hand through his hair, moving the strands away so that it didn't look like a bird's nest. Pulse quickened, heart beating wildly, Angel closed his eyes. He reminded himself to calm down, that it was most likely too early in the morning to wake up.   
  
"I bet it's all that damn karaoke," Angel muttered, before smacking his pillow into shape and falling onto it head first. Eyes snapping shut, he forced himself to sleep while yanking the covers over his head.   
  
He already knew it was going to be a long day.   
  
*   
  
She wanted to use his bathroom.   
  
Or at least, she left something in there. No, wait. The toilet flow backed up. Repressing the automatic 'eww' coming to her mind, Cordelia forced herself to wake fully, tanned legs dangling over the edge of her bed. Another night she stayed over, another night she left her motel room alone. Fuck. It would probably be stripped by now.   
  
Then again, her room wasn't as conventional as the others were. Neither was her luggage.   
  
_The only valuable thing they'd find is my chain and my jacket. Both on me. Wait. Oh… crap. No, no. Craaaap._   
  
Eyes darting about, Cordelia pulled the bed covers to her chest, long and luxurious hair cascading down. It'd been so long since she last cut it, and by now it was mid-back.   
  
"Great…"   
  
The jacket was nowhere to be found. Chain. Yes. There… around her neck. It seemed silly at first, but these were the solid material possessions she carried along, other items be damned. She needed something tangible, a reminder of her past and to let her know she wasn't a roaming spirit.   
  
_Not like I need to get comfy here. This is it. Last day. Overstayed welcome._   
  
Pushing other meticulous thoughts out of her mind, Cordelia headed for the shower to calm herself down. Thankfully, it worked, and after she showered and dressed, she made her way to Angel's room.   
  
Correction. Angel and _Buffy's_ room.   
  
"Just a quick good-bye, and then I'm off," Cordelia murmured, knowing there was no sense in talking to herself in the hallway. Hearing the words spoken out loud made it better though, reminding her that this was not her home. They were not her friends. Merely acquaintances, people she met on the road. No more special than a cranky waitress or a disinterested bus driver.   
  
Door closed, strong fingers turned the knob, and it opened with no sound. Peering in discreetly, Cordelia prayed she had not walked into an… inappropriate situation. _'Cause that would be icky._   
  
"Who's there?"   
  
His voice came to her, harsh and scratchy, sad yet assertive at the same time. Floating on the breeze, her gaze shifted from the gauzy curtains flapping at the open window, to the layout of the room. It was similar to hers, but different, more… messy. Chairs, books, items had been strewn about, a broken shard of wood or two. It looked like a mini-hurricane had hit the room, only not so messy.   
  
Angel walked into view from the right, glancing at her briefly before moving to a small bureau. Cordelia could see the muscles of his back, skin pale, a tattoo in the upper right corner. A bird, or something. He looked good, especially when he bent down a little to take something out of a drawer.   
  
Black drawstring pants a bit low. And there was some–   
  
"Oh. It's just you," Angel murmured a calm tone. He turned around, and the image of perfection, normalcy, shattered. Pulling a dark brown T-shirt over his head, a brief flash of a surprisingly defined stomach was seen, then her eyes lifted.   
  
Hmm. Hope he didn't notice the staring.   
  
"'Just me?' Now is that any way to greet a guest?" Her tone was lilting, teasing. To conceal the slight disappointment of leaving… No. She wasn't even supposed to stay the night. Sure, the excuse of wanting to watch over him could work, but she never ventured into the room. Cordelia did not want to risk seeing him and his girlfriend in bed together.   
  
Hence, her current stance in the doorway.   
  
He looked almost hurt, or what could pass for hurt on his face. "Sorry."   
  
Changing the subject to alleviate the tense feeling in the air, Cordelia said, "I'm leaving today."   
  
Well, not exactly alleviate.   
  
"You are?" Angel sounded surprised, regretful all of a sudden. He knew it was only a matter of time before she left. Why should she stay longer? Hell, she'd stayed longer than anyone else he had met briefly. Most of them did not even dignify him with a simple conversation. Then again, the constant lowered eyes and clipped tone did not help his personality either.   
  
Clearing his throat before she could speak, Angel adjusted his shirt. "Well. Of course you'd be going. No reason for you to stay here."   
  
_Shit. Goooood one, man. Good one._   
  
"Right," she responded after a moment's hesitation, then nodded enthusiastically. "You're right. No reason whatsoever."   
  
"Uh huh." He waited, uncomfortable in the silence that hung over them both. "I'll take you downstairs."   
  
Nodding, Cordelia focused her eyes on the floor as he walked by her, jacket collar clenched…then crumpled in her fists. Crumpled, like the day ahead, her interest and friendship, however short it may be, fading away.   
  
*   
  
Angel remembered what it was like to feel again.   
  
To feel the tiled floor beneath him, the soft hush of leather boots making their way down the staircase. To watch her back muscles flex, just slightly, as she walked in front of him. She decided to wear the outfit she met him in, dark clothing, leather pants, and a tough attitude.   
  
Wait. Leather pants.   
  
_Only natural that now you're a human, you'd think like one._   
  
It still freaked him out, sometimes, to say out loud, to think that yes, he was human now. He spent most of his life as a vampire, so the little things clearly escaped him. Sure, being a vampire was not like being an entirely different form and body on the outside, but inside…   
  
His eyes rose, and Angel found himself at the foot of the staircase, feeling her eyes on him.   
  
"This is where I get off," Cordelia joked, casting a glance up at him before looking down to adjust her jacket. The material was dark, so the scrubbed bloodstains did not show through. He'd cleaned her clothes, adjusted her stuff, took her to the bed in the first place. Noting the hesitancy in his peers, Angel had pointed out that they helped everyone of different species, backgrounds, and genders.   
  
After all, it would be supremely ironic and idiotic if he went against that mission statement after what happened to him.   
  
She almost cracked a smile, her hard gaze on Angel. Waiting, wanting him to say something, anything–   
  
"Good morning all," came the accented voice from the back door entrance, right near where they where standing. The glass door opened slowly, and Spike barged in, tarp over his head and smoking. He bumped into Angel, grabbing him and spinning him around as a protective shield.   
  
The sunlight startled Angel, so his old reflex kicked in, arms raising to deflect the light. Feeling foolish because of his actions, Angel squinted to see Buffy follow Spike, holding a white cardboard box and a brown paper bag.   
  
"I bring donuts and drink. Yee," Buffy chirped, handing the box to Angel. "No need to thank me all at once."   
  
Slightly surprised, Angel tried to thank her, but– "Spike. Get your damn hands off of me."   
  
The young vampire realized he kept using Angel as a shield. Mock dusting off Angel's shoulders, Spike walked towards the office area right after, taking off the blanket. "Right then."   
  
Rolling her eyes, Buffy dug into the brown paper bag. "Idiot," she murmured, expressing her thoughts in regard to Spike. Meanwhile, Cordelia looked amused yet conflicted, while Angel simply looked embarrassed.   
  
"Buffy?" Cordelia looked to the stairs, then to the Slayer. "You were– where were you?"   
  
"What? …Cordelia, right."   
  
"I thought I saw you outside late last night, near the hotel. Right after me and Angel came home. I thought you were going to come in."   
  
Buffy cleared her throat, stopping from taking the wrapper off of her straw. "Oh… I was slaying… You now how it is. Then I came back home and got some shut eye."   
  
"Then how come you're wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday?"   
  
"What is this? Twenty Questions?" Buffy joked, opening the cap of her drink. She took a long swig, glancing at Angel with a look before heading to join Spike in the office.   
  
Letting that settle in for a moment, Cordelia raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, amused, then went to sit on the couch near the staircase.   
  
"Y'know, your little Slayer girl and British guy back there seem a bit...I don't know...High-strung?" Cordelia said, looking at the office, then back to Angel.   
  
"Huh. Really." Angel gave a bit of a chuckle, but his demeanor soon was serious as he stared at Cordelia, folding his arms. She was fidgeting, hesitant to leave, he guessed. Her case was not a shut one. It kept on, and he was clearly intrigued to find out how it began.   
  
"What?" Cordelia asked, looking up at him, clearly confused.   
  
"How come I feel you're not telling me everything?" Angel snapped as he started to pace back and forth. He looked pained to do so, besides his erratic walk, but the look on his face.   
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Cordelia said, an apprehensive look.   
  
"Look. Just drop the façade. I know something's up. If you want me to help you, I will. But you have to be honest with me, Cordelia," Angel turned to face her. He then walked over and sat next to her on the couch. She immediately sat up straight and seemed to have a sudden interest in her nails.   
  
"I know you might feel out of place here in LA, but I can help you with whatever's troubling you, if you just let me try," Angel said, moving to sit closer to Cordelia. She could feel his close presence, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up.   
  
"Just tell me, Cordelia," Angel asked politely, and with that, he put his large hand on Cordelia's thigh. He was startled that he actually did that, because he would only do that with Buffy. Cordelia remained undaunted, and her hazel eyes looked downcast as she tilted her head forward, dark brown bangs getting into her eyes. She then took her hand in her own hands, and seemed to be even paler than Angel himself at that moment.   
  
"Not very warm..." Cordelia started, turning to look at Angel through her bangs. She then looked back at his hand, turning it so she could see his palm. "You have a very long lifeline...But that makes sense, doesn't it?"   
  
He swallowed, looking at her smaller fingers.   
  
"Tell me." Angel gritted, turning away to stare at the floor. The sound of bickering and stray laughter could be heard coming from the office.   
  
"All right. If you have to know, I was just…I travel from place to place. Not much of a quiet person, so I tend to make enemies that way." She licked her lips. "I'm here on a mission to stop a certain group from joining another," Cordelia said, looking at her nails once more. Angel took his hand away, a questioning look on his face.   
  
"What groups are you talking about? Is there some way I can help?" he asked, but a shake of Cordelia's head was her only answer.   
  
"I've already told you too much information," she said, looking uncomfortable.   
  
"Too much? You only told me a little and now you're all secretive?"   
  
"I have to go." Cordelia stood up, yanking her jacket from its position on the couch's armrest. Angel grabbed her arm, making her turn and face him. So involved in this was she, that they both failed to notice a small envelope folded in half, fall between the crack of the couch cushions.   
  
"You can't just walk away from your problems. I'm here to help you!" Angel said a bit loudly, but she managed to get out of his grip. As a last ditch effort, he grabbed onto her leather jacket, restraining her from moving further. "Please Cordelia. Let me try."   
  
"I...I have to _go_," Cordelia said, tugging on her jacket, a pleading look in her eyes. Angel relinquished his hold on it, but not before he pleaded once more, begging almost. No. No. _I can't lose anyone else again. I don't have the strength._   
  
She ran to the front door of the hotel, taking one last look at her temporary protector right before running out into the sunlight.   
  
Uncomfortable, Angel shoved his hands into his pockets, looking down at the floor.   
  
He still didn't notice the envelope that was in her pocket slip into the cracks between the cushions.   
  
All he could notice was the ability to feel, that it began to slip away from him like the happiness that had long since left his heart.   
  
  
Continue on...   
  



	3. Chapter 7

Title: **If There Never Was**   
Author: **Ignited**  
Posted: 03-11-2002  
Email: Ignited   
Category: Romance, Drama, Angst, AU-ish   
Rating: R for language and sexual situations   
Spoilers: Everything up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of speculation here   
Summary: One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind…   
Distribution: Disharmony, List archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!   
Dedication: To Steffi and Kath– for always believing in me, plus generally being helpful, caring, and showing good input. And to Melissa and Christie, who are fic goddesses and great friends. This one's for you.   
Author's Notes: This has been sitting in my computer since June, at least. Along with two other fanfics that I planned to write, but unfortunately have no time to put real thought into them. So, this is a combination of three different ideas. With the emergence of _Vanilla Sky_, a similar but distinctly different story, I decided to finally complete this minor story, of which has turned into a full fledged monstrosity of a fic. It's my seriously screwed up and basically nothing alike, take on _Vanilla Sky._ Open minds are required, please…   


* * *

**Chapter 7**

**Four Days Later**   
  
He was tired, and these stairs were not helping. More than twenty, Angel counted, dark eyes blearily focusing on each step. He shook his canted head randomly, getting the strands away from his eyes, only to have them fall back into place again. Buffy looked equally spent and weary, clamping a hand on his back and pushing him playfully up the staircase. He inwardly cursed, reminding himself not to lash out and refuse her pushing. He both loathed and enjoyed the extra help from her.   
  
Ah, what a troublesome existence.   
  
They reached the door of his room, THEIR room. Angel leaned against the wall, watching Buffy open the doorknob. He followed her inside, seeing the girl throw her keys onto his desk, gently placing the goo encrusted sword and its case on top as well.   
  
Angel shrugged off his jacket, going over to Buffy. She turned to look at him, pausing for a moment. Angel smiled, but it was only seriousness that showed through, a stark contrast of the expression he once had, now horrible wreckage.   
  
She remembered what it was like back then, years ago, to love him fully, in soul and in body.   
  
It had been so long, since then.   
  
Then, her arms slid around his waist, while he touched a wound on her arm gingerly.   
  
"What happened?" Angel asked, fully aware that the demons had clawed her.   
  
"Oh, it's just…a scrape," Buffy said at length, pausing for a few seconds before giving him a kiss. It was slow, vague almost…reminiscent of nights spent making out in cemeteries back in Sunnydale.   
  
She was older now, and he aged as well. Slightly scruffy, even after her complaints a few days before… She'd make him shave or else there'd be hell to pay.   
  
Eyes closed, relinquishing the moment, hearts beating fast to the drum of happier times.   
  
They were just so damn tired, and needy, and wanting. Her fingers eased underneath his shirt, eyes focused on his pants. It had been too long since they last…   
  
Couples had to do that, right? That's what it was all about.   
  
Angel lifted the pale blue tanktop off of her, her fierce gaze fixed on his own, dark eyes half-mast…   
  
…they collapsed onto the bed with a fit of moans, the Slayer looking up at her lover who continued his ministrations. Angel kept up a slow but steady rhythm, face devoid of emotion save for the slight crooked grin that showed…microscopically.   
  
They made love to each other, not saying anything. Both just doing it, because they needed to feel something besides being alone.   
  
*   
  
_"What… You went on without her?"   
  
"What else could I do? I had no idea where she went. She left no address, no relative's or friend's names… Cordelia Chase. All I had was her name."   
  
"But you could have–"   
  
"You want to guess the rest of the story? Should I just stop here?"   
  
"Well, it is a little confusing, you must admit. A chance meeting with her, and this lead you… here, how? I know the exact details of your case, but I need to know more. You still haven't told me about the accident, or what caused you to commit–"   
  
"–I didn't do *anything*."   
  
"We'll see for ourselves. Go on."_   
  
*   
  
_One is the loneliest number…_   
  
Cordelia closed the cabinet door, pulling a…spoon out of her back pocket. She slipped into a rickety metal chair, the kind covered in a horrible green Naugahyde material. Her accommodations were bare, paint peeling, water stains evident. She couldn't expect much from this little hotel, but as long as there was a roof over her head, she'd deal.   
  
And as long as there were plenty of Cheerios, she'd be fine.   
  
Cramming a spoonful into her mouth, Cordelia leaned forward on the dirty wooden table. She gave a hearty smack to the small black and white TV there, getting a clear picture before static faded in again. The aluminum antenna wasn't working still. Muttering to herself, she straightened the black T-shirt and blue jeans, before eating more cereal. She ate her food slowly, cold milk waking her up.   
  
She'd wait for the picture to come back. She'd become good at waiting.   
  
_That you'll ever do   
Two can be as bad as one   
It's the loneliest number since the number one_   
  
Faith straddled the vampire, a wicked smirk on her face. BAM! Another punch, the seventh. The poor thing looked like he wanted to stake himself without delay. So Faith helped him with that.   
  
She rubbed her dusty hands on her pants, proceeding to crack her knuckles. It was early, too early to be awake. But she carried on, surprised to find this minor vampire nest desolate. It had been abandoned recently, save for that single vampire.   
  
Didn't matter to go bother asking the vamp a question. First off, he was dead. Second: It didn't mean shit. Just enforcing the fact that yes, not all vampires are good.   
  
She shook her head, sending dark brown tresses awry, before placing long stands behind her ears. Then, checked the watch Angel had bought her. 11:43AM. Spike would be asleep.   
  
But he wouldn't mind seeing a guest at the foot of his bed. Or IN his bed, for that matter.   
  
_It's just no good anymore   
Since you went away   
Now I spend my time   
Just making rhymes   
Of Yesterday_   
  
Angel stopped his truck, pulling up to the hotel curb. He stared at the dashboard for a minute, turning off the ignition. The sound of the radio turned low died off, and only silence remained. Save for the few city life sounds, such as people and cars swooshing by, of course.   
  
He adjusted his sunglasses, dark and foreboding, but in style. It didn't necessarily go with the brown leather jacket he was wearing, but that didn't matter much to him. He stepped out of the truck, looking at it forlornly. It was a dark but pale red, almost rust. Staring at it, the '56 model, it reminded him of…something. Someone he couldn't quite place a finger on.   
  
He unlatched the back of the truck, pulling out the moderately heavy cardboard box out and onto the pavement. Angel sighed a bit, reaching forward and taking another box out of the truck, just to place it near the other one. He pulled up a brown paper bag wrapped in a white plastic bag, and a few thin rods of wood in his other hand. Stakes. Well, they would be, after Buffy gave her own demonstration of chopping to each. Angel couldn't find any spare chairs at the dump, so…this would do.   
  
Calm and calculated, he went into the hotel through the back door, sunlight streaming down, but never touching the darkness of his sunglasses, or the eyes behind them.   
  
*   
  
"Buffy. Buffy, come here. Damn it! Pay attention, woman," Spike growled, coming down the staircase. He adjusted the ratchet devices strapped to his arms, looking at the odd tableau before him. That ponce, Wes, he thought his name was, leaned against the hotel counter, worn leather jacket and faded gray jeans. One elbow on the counter, he inspected the crossbow in his hands, just as–   
  
"God, people can hear you all down the fucking block," Faith told him, coming out of the office area. She rolled her eyes in Spike's direction while hoisting the small bundle of sheathed swords from her shoulder onto the counter. Swinging her legs up, Faith sat on the counter, legs dangling as she bent over to look at the weapons.   
  
He restrained himself from making a snarky comment in return. Faith had a mean streak in her, that he loved, but now was not the time to argue with her. There was a mission to take care of, much as he hated strenuous work, but it had to be done. That way, money could be accepted, alcohol could be bought, and sex could be had.   
  
It was a simple concept, really.   
  
Buffy had contacted Wesley to help her in regard to the Wolfram & Hart situation. Angel had a vision earlier of a restaurant in trouble, patrons about to be hurt by vampires. What intrigued the group was that lawyers who worked for Wolfram & Hart frequented this eatery. They wondered what was up.   
  
Why would clients attack their providers?   
  
Turning the question over in his mind, Angel came out of the basement, adjusting the buttons on his shirt cuffs. Black shirt, pants, and boots, all very familiar. His trenchcoat, the original one from Sunnydale, was gone, lost in the fire that wrecked his car and his life…   
  
They all glanced at him once, turning away to their activities when Buffy came from the other office entrance. He stood up a bit straighter, face clean shaven and dark eyes stormy.   
  
"Angel. Where were you?"   
  
Hands on her hips, her tone was clipped, blue eyed gaze fierce. It was ironic really, this seemingly diminutive small blonde girl staring up at the tall, dark and brooding man. She looked like she wanted to kick his ass, which was possible, you know. Wiping the floor with him, and all.   
  
Angel fidgeted, a boy caught stealing candy. "I was… In the basement."   
  
"No you weren't." Buffy waved a hand. "If you were, you would have heard my screaming earlier."   
  
"So that's why she didn't listen to me. Can't hear anyone 'cept herself," Spike murmured.   
  
"SHUT UP," Angel and Buffy growled, looking at Spike briefly, then each other.   
  
Buffy stabbed a finger at Angel's chest. "You didn't take your pills this morning."   
  
"So? Not like it'll kill the pounding aching of my head," Angel clipped, going into the office. Both Faith and Wesley looked at him with concern, and a hint of confusion. Normally he was not so direct with Buffy, but they knew that their arguments had grown more numerous. Sure, Wesley was an acquaintance, and didn't hang out with them much, but even he could tell.   
  
Angel rifled through the papers on his desk, opening a drawer hastily while the aforementioned two watched. He slammed the drawer shut with a crash, sending papers and pens flying, then barged out. In his fist, he clenched the orange plastic container which he nearly shoved in her face. "You want the pills? Huh? Here's the DAMNED PILLS!"   
  
"Don't get like that with me," Buffy snapped, slowly shaking her head, her eyes growing dark and intense. "Don't get like that. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention. I care about your health, all right? It's the least I can do!"   
  
"I know you do," he said with a glare, chin jutting out in defense. "Oh, don't I know it. That's why you won't let me fight, is that it? That's why you can't stand the fact that I don't want to play messenger boy anymore, isn't it."   
  
"That is not–"   
  
"Yes it is–!"   
  
"Don't do this to me, Angel–"   
  
"What? What? WHAT am I doing?"   
  
They yelled at each other, snapping and sarcastic, the distance between them closing. The electricity between them sparking, and the other three people could only watch and stare at them. Eyes wide, Faith never heard them speak so harshly against each other. Yes, old fights over missions, money, love… But this. This one took the cake.   
  
_Okay…Knowing these romantic saps, this is where the kiss comes in._   
  
"–This - this isn't some stupid game, Buffy! This is my LIFE, okay? What's left of it! You can expect me to sit here, listen to your orders all the damn–"   
  
Buffy scowled, fingers flexing. "I do not give you orders!"   
  
"–Can I finish? Is it allowed?" His eyes were narrowed, nearly sneering. "I'm not your damn child. I'm not one of your damn friends from high school. This isn't Sunnydale, Buff–"   
  
The Slayer smacked hard him across the face.   
  
His head whipped back to the left, scars already there from a previous crash.   
  
Her hand shaking, Buffy stared at him, eyes wild and frightened. Teary, lip trembling, the lost little girl looked upon her much older lover, who she hurt. After all the trips, the worries, the hours spent waiting, wondering… And this. He gave his life to save the world, she sent him to Hell to do it, so many years ago.   
  
Disfigured, human, and glaring, Angel straightened to his full six-foot plus frame, thin yet firm.   
  
Her hand waved, and she shook her head mutely, tears ready to fall. "Don't."   
  
Voice shaky, Buffy went into the office, and a clatter of books and papers could be heard. She picked them up, the ones Angel threw, and sat in the chair across from his desk, head in her hands.   
  
The echo of yelling died down, and only Angel remained in his slow burn while Faith, Wesley and Spike looked on. Previously amused by their display of an argument, Spike now only looked at Angel with a glare.   
  
In fact, he went over to him just as Angel lowered the hand holding the canister.   
  
Spike shoved Angel's arm, grabbing his elbow. He turned him to view him in the face, a look of shocked anger.   
  
"Are you daft? We're not supposed to mention the place around the girl. You know how she gets."   
  
Now it was Angel's turn to look confused. "What? What place?"   
  
"Little old Sunnyhell. After what happened to her slayerette pals. Dead, the whole lot." Searching Angel's contorted face for some sign of recognition, Spike looked even more incredulous. "Don't you remember?"   
  
After a moment's pause, Angel nodded. "Yeah… yeah." Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Angel waved to Faith halfheartedly. She remained quiet through the fiery exchange, casting occasional surprised glances to Wesley, which he offered in return.   
  
"Faith, Wes, think you can take care of it? The vision…"   
  
Wesley nodded, picking up the bag of weapons Faith recently put the swords in. "We're on it."   
  
He watched them leave the hotel, the courtesy Wesley displayed in holding the door open for Faith, the eternal gentleman.   
  
Spike softened the hold on Angel's elbow, noticing the pained expression on his grandsire. "Think you need to take a rest?"   
  
"Why do you care?"   
  
"'Course, we don't want you dying on us. Can't run a business called 'Angel Investigations' without the namesake. And I don't want your girl to be distraught again," Spike grumbled, bringing Angel over to the couch near the staircase. "Damn near tore a hole in my leather in the hospital."   
  
Chuckling slightly, Angel looked up at Spike, before his eyes focused on the canister in his hand. "Go… Go talk to her. You're better at that kind of thing."   
  
"All right," Spike replied, starting to walk to the office. He called over his shoulder with a short wave, "You owe me a trip to the pub!"   
  
Settling back on the couch with a large sigh, Angel rested his cheek against his palm. The force sent a…what, was that? A piece of paper, or something, white and flitting down to the floor like a lost bird. It came from the crack between the couch cushions, right into Angel's sight.   
  
He noticed the paper– wait, envelope that had fallen and he bent down to pick it up. Angel then flopped onto the couch.   
  
The name on the folded envelope read 'Cordelia'.   
  
_Must've fallen out of her jacket_, Angel thought. _No harm in reading it...It may give me some clues about this mystery woman._   
  
He opened the envelope, taking out the letter Cordelia had read days before. _This must be what she was talking about_, Angel thought, brow furrowing. _Wolfram & Hart. Not surprising. But..._   
  
_'There have been more cases of paranormal activity located in the western part of this country, especially on the coast. A new group, known simply as the Chintsuzai, has joined up with the law firm pertaining to demons and humans alike, Wolfram and Hart. This merge will most certainly result in disaster for those you are trying to protect. Your vehicle has been prepared and your boarding there has been accommodated. You will leave in two hours.'_   
  
Besides the generic block print, scribbles and drawings of stick figures and flowers could be seen in the margins, making a smile cross his face.   
  
Another word. 'Chintsuzai'.   
  
_Chintsuzai. Where have I heard that before? Hmm… Better get Buffy and Spike to look up this one..._   
  
Standing up, her put a hand to his forehead, the pain remaining.   
  
Just as he wondered how he could forget Xander, Willow, and Giles…all of them, had died.   
  
Though, he could blame it on the fact that he didn't know they passed away.   
  
  
*   
  
"Chintsuzai. Japanese for _painkiller_," Spike went on, holding a book in his hands. Buffy was typing away on the Blueberry iMac Angel had in the office for research. The former vampire kept busy by flipping through some old books on cult mythology. Sitting on the corner of his desk, he looked flustered, on the edge.   
  
"God, you people have me reading books now. What's next? Strap some tweed on the boy and send him off to Watcher school, isn't it?"   
  
"And it's also the name of the new crime organization rising to power here in Cali. Roots go back to Japan, hence the namesake," Buffy said, leaning on her elbow as she surfed through different websites.   
  
"So, the girl's Japanese," Spike said, sighing. "And working for this group."   
  
"No, no. She's not. She's working against it; it said so in the letter," Angel spoke up, not bothering to look up from his book.   
  
"Sure Angel, that may be true, but still… We don't know anything about this girl. She could be a turncoat."   
  
"Could be? Did you see those leather pants she was wearing? Major chaffing," Buffy mumbled, looking as if she'd fall asleep. The tension has dissipated between her and Angel, a few lewd remarks and dirty jokes from Spike sending her on another trip.   
  
Angel rolled his eyes, looking to Spike. "She's innocent. Cordelia just needs a hand. She's against Wolfram & Hart, remember?"   
  
"That's what we'd all like to think. But she could be workin' for them, just as well."   
  
"Mmmhmm." Angel was looking through his books again, and a moment later he slammed his desk with his fist. "I think I've seen her before, but I can't figure out WHERE."   
  
"You think maybe she's a demon?" Spike put in. At Angel's look, he explained, "You know… young age, familiar. Though if you did meet her, I never ran into her when I was with you."   
  
They let that settle in for a moment, nights of debauchery and death rising in their memories.   
  
"Something different." Angel fidgeted, wondering whether to mention the dreams. The visions, in which he found himself in situations with a lovely brunette, her face and name known but unclear. It was like the times when you had an idea or word on the tip of your tongue, but it just wouldn't come out of your mouth.   
  
Buffy leaned back, looking intently at him. "Different how?"   
  
"Like… I knew her. She was important to me. I don't know why though."   
  
"Deeeemooonn. Vamp Vixen. Betcha," Buffy said with a nod, pointing a finger.   
  
"Anyway, that's in the past," Angel replied, grabbing his long black duster off the coat rack and putting it on. "I heard a bit of an accent. Maybe from the east. New York or so. Buffy, I need you to find out who took a plane to L.A from New York in the past three days."   
  
"Okay. I'll just look through thousands of possibilities," Buffy said dryly.   
  
Realizing the idiocy of his question, Angel scowled, patting his pockets. Yes… he had the tools. All he needed was the trap.   
  
"It'll be impossible to find her," Spike said, looking at Angel's glare.   
  
Angel picked up the envelope that the letter came in, noticing a small slip over paper in it. He took it out, seeing a hastily written address scribbled on it. _There_, he thought. "Not impossible," he said to Spike, starting to walk out of the office. "I'll go find her. You two do some research. I want a thorough background check on her and the Chintsuzai, so we can know what we're up against."   
  
"Angel!" Buffy called after him as Angel went to go to his car, "Be careful!"   
  
"I will," Angel said as he slipped out the door. _I'll be careful_.   
  
  
*   
  
"WESLEY, DOWN!"   
  
Ducking his head as a platter tray sailed through the air toward him, he rolled and caught his breath. It slammed into the face of the vampire about to bite him, so Wes used the opportunity to lunge his stake forward. The wood met its target, dust swooshing when Wesley stood up abruptly. He elbowed another vampire near him, then proceeded to stake it.   
  
The place was a mess.   
  
Tables overturned, patrons screaming and running, the restaurant with the funny European name was in shambles, courtesy of two vampire killers and a bunch of their prey. Splinters, torn metal, remains of tables, food, and plates littered the floor. Dinners were ruined, stains on the tablecloths and carpeted floors.   
  
Sounds of grunting and screaming could be heard, Wesley rolling and shoving his stake into another vampire while Faith flipped over a table to pummel another one. Blow after blow connected, Faith and Wesley outnumbered three to one, but the odds were increasing in their favor.   
  
In one such scuffle, Faith landed on top of a grungy street vampire, straddling him. She pointed the stake against his chest, well aware that Wesley was busy throttling another vamp behind her.   
  
"Does the word Chin– Wes, a little help here."   
  
"Chintsu…ZAAIIII!" Wesley yelled, finally giving a hard right to the vampire. He shouted a mock battle cry, leaping forward.   
  
Faith nodded, looking down. "Chintsuzai. Right. Does that word mean anything to you?"   
  
"I will not reveal anything! I remain true to my cause," the vampire spat.   
  
"Oh, come on. I don't got time for this bullshit. Blah, blah, truth and justice for all. Spare me," Faith snapped, grabbing a handful of the vampire's hair. "Who the fuck came up with the idea to raid the place? You know, before the big signing on the dotted line? Joining up with Wolfram & Hart?"   
  
He hesitated, but after Faith pressing the point of the stake harder, the vampire muttered, "We're to let them know that this is just business. They can't expect to reign us in."   
  
In that dramatic way of hers, Faith leaned back, nodding. Her expression showed complete surprise, smiling, if not sarcastic. "Doesn't that make sense. Show your fangs, bite the hand that feeds ya. Just to let 'em know you're the big bad, even if you're joining up. They don't own you."   
  
She leaned in, voice sweet and seductive. "But really, all this is for a good, quick one, ain't it?"   
  
Roaring, he lunged up and twisted her wrist to plunge the stake in her side.   
  
"Faith!"   
  
Fireworks in her mind and eyes, Faith clutched her midsection, blood pouring–   
  
_FLASH! Blonde and brunette scuffled on the rooftop, each landing solid blows. They twisted and turned, shouting insults, wrists connected by handcuffs. Then, the cuffs were gone, and it was a free-for-all… Lunging, ducking, kicking…   
  
The blade shoved into her stomach, curvy and dangerous, much like herself.   
  
Wild blue eyes belonging to Buffy stared at her in shock, just as Faith pushed her back, knocking the Slayer down and out to the ground.   
  
She told her… something. Another sarcastic comment, so blurry and faded right now. The truck passed by the building, and she felt herself slipping towards silent bliss.   
  
It was over. She'd get away, go to see him, the Mayor–   
  
An arm shot out, Buffy's fierce gaze meeting Faith and pulling her back. They both toppled to the ground, tripping over equipment and tools on the roof.   
  
"This isn't gonna happen, Faith. I'm not going to let you. I can't. I won't," Buffy told her with conviction, panting. A cut on her forehead, she crawled over to the rogue Slayer, taking the jacket off the brunette beauty. And as the darkness flooded in, her own jacket pressed against her stomach wound, Faith could hear Buffy's voice.   
  
"I don't know why I'm doing this, but you're not gonna to win. You are NOT going to win. I won't let you. I'm getting you to the hospital, and then Angel… I don't know what I'll do. I'll find a way to get the blood to him."   
  
Her last thought, red seeping into her vision, was if the color made her more like him._   
  
–"FAITH!"   
  
She grabbed a fallen silver platter, gripping it with both hands before shoving it cleanly through the vampire's neck. With a scream, he was dusted, head decapitated and dissolving to nothing. Faith fell a short distance to the ground, a pained expression. Her fingers were sticky and wet, pulling the wooden stake from her stomach.   
  
A short scuffle of sounds and clanking metal, then a scream followed, Wesley rushing to her side. Stray onlookers gaped with wild, frightened eyes, seeing Wesley pick Faith up, lifting her with both arms. A mock groom taking his bride over the threshold, Wesley juggled carrying Faith and his bag of weapons.   
  
They left quickly, carnage and dust remaining.   


* * *

**Chapter 8** Unhappy Benediction 

"Faith. Faith, listen to me. We're about to go into my apartment. Stay with me," Wesley instructed her, carrying her over the threshold. In the back of his mind he could picture veils, flowers and thrown rice, but that was beside the point. Faith was injured, her head resting on Wesley's shoulder, eyes half open. The jacket, her jacket covered her stomach, bright red blood seeping through.   
  
She stirred, Wesley lowering her to lie on the couch after kicking away a few newspapers.   
  
A thumb brushing her cheek, Wesley frowned. "Faith?"   
  
Eyes opening fully, Faith murmured, "Wes... Shouldn't you be takin' me to a hospital, or something?"   
  
"It's just a minor flesh wound."   
  
"Fuck Wes, this doesn't feel like a fucking 'flesh wound'," Faith growled, face constricted. "Hurts like hell."   
  
"Don't complain. It could have gone much deeper. Besides, there's no need to alert the authorities to the fight. They'll connect us to the restaurant."   
  
Her eyes rolled heavenwards, sighing. Wesley stood up and grabbed a black leather bag from his desk. He went over to Faith, opening the bag and taking out some antiseptic, bandages, gauze…whatever the heck he was doing, Faith was getting cranky.   
  
She cleared her throat, wincing when he ripped her already torn tanktop to examine the wound.   
  
"I am SO gonna kick Spike's ass after this. Always trailing after Buffy," Faith murmured dreamily, raising a hand to hold her forehead. "If he'd at least…for one fucking second, LISTEN to me…"   
  
Wesley looked a trifle flustered, beginning to clean the wound. "He doesn't, now?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"Listen to you."   
  
"'Course not. He either gives a fuck, or doesn't. That's the way it is," Faith scoffed.   
  
"And you don't care if he acts out of order… Or at least, out of your control?" Wesley asked in a low voice, ignoring the stray wincing from Faith. He then started to bandage the wound.   
  
Her eyes narrowed. "It's not like I'm his mom or something. Spike's a vampire."   
  
"That isn't any excuse," Wesley retorted. After getting a raised eyebrow in return, he explained, "At least, in a healthy relationship I suppose, you each take an equal part in listening, helping each other."   
  
Continuing in silence for a while, Faith stared at a point on the ceiling, searching for signs, ideas she could only read. The corners of her mouth tugging upwards in a smile, she watched Wesley finish, patting her thigh. Indicating she was done, Faith sat up slowly.   
  
"When was the last time you had a girlfriend, Wes?" Faith asked, smile becoming a devilish grin.   
  
Blushing almost, the cold young man disappeared for a moment, her old Watcher in place. He considered her question for a moment, then answered, "It's been a long time."   
  
Faith raised an eyebrow, leaning forward ever so slightly. "Too long, from the looks of things."   
  
She didn't know how right she was.   
  
*   
  
God, she was beginning to hate Los Angeles.   
  
Cordelia went flying into a bookcase, her right arm pinned behind her by a greenish demon in street clothes. "Hey...Watch the jacket!" She was in her L.A. 'apartment', personal items thrown here and there. The lights were low, and the mood was dark, the furniture done in shades of green and blue.   
  
"Are you prepared to die?" The demon asked with a scratchy, deep voice as it pushed her into the bookcase, a jagged scar running along its cheek.   
  
"I'm prepared to rip your throat out!" Cordelia yelled, turning her head against the edge of the shelf her face was pressed against. She saw another demon rifling through her suitcase, another big bruiser standing guard by her door. These two demons were as ugly as their brother, with dark black eyes and scaly green skin, also clad in street clothes.   
  
"Personal stuff! Personal stuff! _So_ nosy!" Cordelia shouted.   
  
The demon going through her stuff picked up a sexy piece of black lace lingerie. He held it up in front of his face, leering at Cordelia with one eye. His other wasn't there; only the socket was.   
  
"Oh, you're gonna get it all dirty now," Cordelia muttered, then closed her eyes in frustration as the demon clutching her arm told her to shut up.   
  
Cordelia pushed herself away from the bookcase, back handing the demon with such force that it flew to the ground. Before the nosy demon knew it, she had an arm around its neck, sharp serrated knife pressing slightly into his throat.   
  
The guard demon moved to stop her, but she whirled around to look at him, demon still in her arms.   
  
"I think you should put that down now," she said to the guard, nodding her head towards the gun in his hand. Her hazel eyes glanced to the demon in her arms, then to him. "Unless you want to stare at the gaping hole in your brother's throat, _riiight_ where his esophagus should be." She smiled cruelly. "Put it down."   
  
The guard demon growled, then obeyed reluctantly.   
  
"See? Was that so hard?" Cordelia asked the demon in her arms that shook his head, afraid. "Aren't you just a big cute...scaly...demon thing," she drawled.   
  
Cordelia suddenly felt a hard blow to her back. The first scarred demon had gotten up and kicked her; she fell face forward as she let go of the demon in her arms. Guard bent in low to catch her, and he pulled her up straight, holding her arms behind her back.   
  
"And I'm so popular all of a sudden? Who sent you?" she asked Scar, having a good guess as to what he'd say.   
  
"McDonald said you're worth two thousand alive, but I don't mind bringing him a corpse," Scar replied, punching her in the stomach. The eyeless demon stood by with a smile, showing a lot of crooked teeth.   
  
"Is that right?" Cordelia muttered as another blow connected with her abdomen, and she doubled over in pain. _Thought I was worth more than that_. "Never knew I was - popular."   
  
She heard a loud crash. The four occupants of the room looked to the door, or what was left of it. The remains of the door had fallen forward into the apartment. Angel stood behind the doorframe, glaring.   
  
Feeling a bit dizzy as she was barely awake, Cordelia took in the wonderful vision of Angel there, and loved his hideous features.   
  
"How come all the time I see you, you're in trouble?" Angel asked.   
  
"Starting a new trend?" Cordelia replied, elbowing the guard demon behind her in the stomach.   
  
Angel started inside, but he was blocked by the invisible wall in front of him. Not invited, Angel said to himself, but became clearly confused. As a vampire, Angel could not go into any personal dwelling without being invited by the person who lived there. But he was alive, human right? He checked his pulse.   
  
"Invite me in!" Angel called as Cordelia flipped the scarred demon over her shoulder.   
  
"What?!" Cordelia slammed her fist into the guard demon's face.   
  
"Invite me in," Angel urged, slamming his hands furiously at the invisible barrier.   
  
"You are SO not a vampire, the last time I checked!" Cordelia gasped, just as the eyeless demon put her in a strangle hold.   
  
Angel moved to come in, but he walked face forward into the barrier. He took a step back confusingly when Cordelia yelled in frustration, grabbing the eyeless demon and throwing it towards an adjacent wall with amazing strength.   
  
"Cordelia," Angel started impatiently. "Isn't this where you're staying?"   
  
"Yeah," Cordelia said, jump kicking the scarred demon.   
  
"Then how come I still can't come in!?"   
  
"They…probably - put…protective… BARRIER!" Her words were choked by a pair of filthy hands on her neck. She elbowed the demon behind her, holding back a curse before explaining, "Right after they came in, I think. Just in case someone came by to see little old me being oh…you know… ATTACKED!"   
  
Angel nodded patiently, an eyebrow raised. "This isn't a motel room."   
  
She looked like she'd been caught. "I sorta borrowed the place from a friend."   
  
"Borrowed?" Angel inquired, grimacing as Cordelia raked her serrated knife across the guard demon's throat, making him fall dead to the floor.   
  
"What do you mean, 'borrowed'?" he asked, but only got a shake of her head in response.   
  
"Heads up!" Cordelia growled, throwing the scarred demon out of the apartment, making it fly into Angel.   
  
Angel grabbed the demon by his neck, snapping his spinal cord. He watched the demon fall to the floor. "You know, we're gonna have to be straight on these little things," Angel said.   
  
"I can take care of myself," Cordelia responded with a wince.   
  
"Oh really?" Angel said, "Behind you."   
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes, punching the eyeless demon looming up behind her, without a grunt. She walked over to her bed, looking at her suitcase as Angel leaned on the doorframe.   
  
"So what happened to your 'friend'? Did you kill him?" Angel said, a serious look on his pale complexion.   
  
"I didn't," Cordelia muttered as she looked at her lingerie on the bed, feeling embarrassed. She stuffed it into her suitcase, closing and locking the suitcase. Turning to Angel, sheen of perspiration on her face, her hand tightly wrapped around the suitcase handle.   
  
Angel straightened his posture. "You can't stay here. Wolfram and Hart probably know you're here by now," he said, getting a surprised look from her.   
  
"I saw the letter," he explained.   
  
"Oh." She walked over to the door and into the hallway, looking up at him. "No use being all secretive then. Bet you've read up on why I do these things."   
  
It was Angel's turn to be surprised. "Yes."   
  
"And?" Cordelia gave him a quick once-over. Angel could see she was either pleased or faking it, regarding what she saw. "Where's the stake? The lecture? Sword, stake, whatever floats your boat. Shouldn't it be in this _whore's_ heart by now?" She said 'whore' sarcastically.   
  
_She sounds so much like Buffy, Angel thought. The way she speaks, her words, her voice..._   
  
He didn't like comparing her to Buffy, because they were so different in so many ways. It was like a pros and cons list.   
  
"No," Angel responded, his dark and smoldering eyes sending chills down Cordelia's spine. "People change. I should know."   
  
The two let that sink in for a minute, silent.   
  
"You can stay with me," Angel said quietly, looking to the floor. "At the hotel, I mean," he added, amazed at his behavior.   
  
"With you?" Cordelia considered it for a moment, then nodded with a smile. "I think I'd like that." She shifted uncomfortably, glancing down the building hallway, then as her suitcase. "Well, you know, until this whole thing blows over."   
  
"Yeah." Angel gently took the suitcase from her, slightly surprised that this woman with her small frame could carry the moderately heavy suitcase easily. _She's not like other girls_, he reminded himself, thinking of Buffy and her own Slayer strength. Cordelia wasn't a Slayer, and it was doubtful she was a slayer-in-waiting, but she was in excellent physical condition. Years of practice and honing her skills for revenge must have taught her that. She was graceful though, lithe and thin, not bulky or muscular. Just right.   
  
"I don't want to keep you occupied with my safety," Cordelia said as they walked down the hallway, to the elevator.   
  
_But I wouldn't mind being with you_, she added silently.   
  
_I want to be occupied with you_, Angel thought at the same time.   
  
The conflicted acquaintances were intent on getting to the Hotel without incident, while hoping they could reign in their interest for each other.   
  
*   
  
"He's letting her stay here again?!" Buffy looked incredulously to Spike. He shrugged, standing in the doorway of Angel's office. Buffy slumped in front of her computer monitor, disbelieving. She had been researching the Chintsuzai while Angel went on his escapade to see Cordelia. Angel and Cordelia were now sitting outside, talking in the courtyard, doing whatever people like them did.   
  
"Yeah," Spike replied, taking a swig of his beer.   
  
"I don't trust her," Buffy snapped, then pushed away her mouse, frustrated. "All I keep getting is the same thing," she said, pointing to the computer screen.   
  
"And that is?"   
  
"Blah blah, Chin-too-sai are evil undead people, yadda yadda. For all I know, they're the ones who created Pokémon or something!"   
  
"It's Chintsuzai," Spike corrected her.   
  
"Whatever."   
  
"What do you mean, you don't trust her?" Spike tried to change the subject. "She seems to be kind towards Angel, if you get my meaning."   
  
"Well aren't we Mr. Contradict Myself? An hour ago, you were saying-" Buffy straightened, adapting her voice to sound English "-'The bird is dangerous. We should be careful around 'er'," she finished, mocking Spike.   
  
"Angel doesn't think that," Spike said after rolling his eyes at her impression of him, looking in the direction of the courtyard. He saw Angel standing in front of Cordelia, talking quietly. "I think he likes her."   
  
At this, Buffy clicked the mouse so the screen went back to the desktop. She stood up, coming to Spike's side to watch the events unfold in the courtyard. Straightening a pile of folders on the desk, she murmured, "I hope you're not trying to say what I think you're trying to say."   
  
"What?" Spike took another sip, watching her put the files on Angel's desk. "You think I'm jealous?"   
  
"In which way?" Buffy snapped, patience thinning.   
  
"Oh. I get it." He winked, nodding the beer can in her direction. "_You're_ jealous of her."   
  
She looked incredulous. "And I would be… how?"   
  
"She's taken your big, strapping young boy away. Shame, it is," Spike said with a laugh, before Buffy smacked him upside the head while walking by. "Oww!"   
  
"Come over here, Spike," Buffy growled, a mocking tone.   
  
One step closer, and Spike would be eaten alive. Undead, at least.   
  
*   
  
"How were you sired?" Cordelia moved dark colored tresses off her shoulder, looking intently at his profile. It was getting late sort of, but then it was hard to tell in the courtyard. Her question had no real importance, other than to get him talking, communicating. Plus, she was getting cold. She considered moving closer to him, but then he might do the flinching, shying away thing again.   
  
"I was… drunk. Darla found me in an alley, promising me that she'd let me see the world. I only wanted to get in her corset, so I didn't really do anything when she bit me."   
  
"You were made in an alley?"   
  
"Yeah. Why?"   
  
Cordelia covered her mouth, suppressing a giggle.   
  
"What's so funny?" Angel asked, raising an eyebrow as she started laughing.   
  
"You were loaded, and she took advantage of you... This girl has some good taste," Cordelia joked, trying to cover her mouth between bursts of laughter.   
  
"You think this is funny?" Angel's good-natured glance turned into a dark glare.   
  
"Oh...I'm sorry. You don't have to be so sensitive," Cordelia replied after seeing his look. She inched closer to him, tracing her index finger across his cheek. He nearly flinched, but stayed there, pain and embarrassment etched on his face.   
  
Angel cleared his throat as his glare softened, and he turned to look at Cordelia, her face suddenly mere inches from his.   
  
"Some high Chintsuzai members are having a party in a few days at some place I know. I'm thinking we should crash," Cordelia whispered, her gaze locked on his dark eyes.   
  
"I haven't been to a party in a while," the brooding man responded as he looked to the ground. "It's mostly because I didn't feel like going, what with…" he tossed off.   
  
"What happened to you because of the accident," Cordelia finished, frowning a little, thinking.   
  
"Yeah." Angel nodded as he looked into her eyes.   
  
_If you get over what happened to him…how he looks like, he such an amazing person. To carry on, after all the stuff he's gone through. And he's so chivalrous, and caring, and interesting. Total non-idiot, nothing like the guys I've been out with before_, Cordelia thought. _Okay. Now my thoughts are rambling. I'm losing it._   
  
A rush of warmth shot through her, from head to toe, making her tingle. She took in a deep breath.   
  
_Do not do anything. Do not.   
  
He's not hot. Okay? Not hot at all.   
  
Serious people issues. Dark clothing. You don't like him.   
  
Do… not._   
  
"So, I-"   
  
Cordelia suddenly leaned forward and made a daring move, kissing him. She knew this was just so wrong, to do something like that. How common sense told her that she was playing dangerous games with a man already involved in a serious relationship. Cheating was wrong, and she knew from experience that it hurt people. She didn't feel like being the initiator of something so hurtful.   
  
Buffy was inside the hotel. One look out the window and down to see them in the garden might break her heart. Possibly Cordelia's nose as well if Buffy was the vengeful, physical type. She appeared to be just that, in Cordelia's opinion.   
  
A soft, pleased noise coming from him, was muffled by her lips as he returned the kiss gently. Her long lashes fluttered as he kissed him back, liking the taste of him.   
  
And suddenly, a wave of pain shot through Angel's head, a pounding ache. It felt as if he could actually feel the blood pumping through his head. Pressure mounted, worse than his normal headaches. A vision.   
  
The pain lasted for merely a second. A flash wracked his mind, blinding him. Angel's vision cleared, and he noticed he was no longer in Cordelia's presence, kissing her warm and wonderful lips. The seer watched as events flashed before his eyes.   
  
_– FLASH! A young girl, hair worn long and in a cute little ponytail, screamed in horror as the fangs plunged into her mothers neck. Sucking sounds were heard, then the vampire disdainfully held his victim at arm's length. He twisted her neck so hard that the crack of disrupted vertebrae nearly made the young girl throw up. She stared with wild eyes, another street vampire restraining her. Without so much as a laugh, he let her go, and they walked off.   
  
She cradled her mother's hand in her lap, whispering softly.   
  
The girl's name was Cordelia.   
  
FLASH! "I'll be with you until you do."   
  
She leaned, sitting next to him. Passion for saving those who needed help, burned in her eyes. He was sad, depressed because of what he'd done. But she'd been there for him, cared for him, maybe even –   
  
FLASH! She'd asked him a question, coming into the office. He responded, confused mildly by the strong intentions visible on her face. Then, she was walking up to him, and then she was in his arms nearly, kissing his mouth. –_   
  
Angel snapped back into this reality. The ...vision, Angel guessed, lasted a moment. But it's effect and purpose worried him.   
  
As Angel had experienced the stabbing feeling of pain, Cordelia went through the same ordeal. She didn't know what was happening, but merely saw the flashes, wondering why this had to happen, while she was with _her_ …current proximity infatuation.   
  
_–FLASH! "–Do you have *any* idea just how *precious* you are?"   
  
Her brow grew furrowed, confused by his question. She knew that something was wrong with him, a spell, that whammy or whatever. But after all her complaints, having Mr. Sensitivity around was not exactly a good thing –   
  
FLASH! "Cordelia. I'm gonna fix this. - Promise. - I'm gonna get you back. - I need you back."   
  
FLASH Angel fell to his knees, on a dark gray stone floor. A blonde stood in front of him- Buffy, wasn't it?- looking as if she would behead him with her ornate silver sword. Another flash, and he folded the blonde into his arms, tears in his eyes.   
  
A vortex, growing in the mouth of a demon, made of stone, behind him.   
  
The girl pulled back after she kissed him, and his eyes closed.   
  
She stabbed him through his chest, pinning him to the stone demon.   
  
Agony, confusion, longing, those all showed in Angel's dark, soulful eyes. And then, he was sucked into the vortex, gone forever. But no...Not forever. He was here, kissing Cordelia's lips right now.   
  
Wasn't he?_   
  
Cordelia blinked, looking into Angel's closed eyes, feeling Angel's soft lips on her own. The whole thing had come and gone. But the girl wanted to know one thing: why?   
  
_I'm losing my mind_, Angel thought as he reluctantly pulled away from Cordelia. She had leaned forward, not wanting to break the kiss.   
  
"The party," Angel mumbled, looking down at his hand, fingers curled around Cordelia's slim fingers. He would have stayed here all night with this girl, taking comfort to just be with her. To feel something besides the pain and hurt in his mind and heart, and conscience. But he had other things to do. Saving the world was one of them. It gave him something else to think about, other than those flashes.   
  
Cordelia nodded. "Uh huh."   
  
She stood up abruptly, rubbing her sides. Then she folded her arms for a moment, right before letting them hang loosely by her sides again.   
  
_She's fidgeting_, Angel thought. _Nervous. I don't blame her._   
  
"Got somewhere I can change?" Cordelia asked, pointing to the various stains of demon goo on her shirt. She winced, wondering about the cleaning bill Buffy faced. With the kind of job she had, assisting Angel with his various baddies, she must go through a new wardrobe every couple of months.   
  
Angel stood up, looking down at her. "Yeah."   
  
They walked inside the Hotel.   
  
*   
  
"Buffy, I need to grab some clothes for Cordelia–"   
  
The lights were off, dark mauve curtains flapping in the late afternoon breeze. It was the period between sunlight and shadow, where people headed home from work, others to work themselves. The air was plain but chilly, papers and other lightweight garbage tumbling down the street. It had the feeling of a desolate region, right outside the hotel. The sky was no longer a burnt orange, but now a pale, steel blue.   
  
Whispering words of death and adventure, the wind carried in through the opened panes. It swooped in low, like a predator, only to caress pale, scarred flesh. No, not of the face, but of someone's leg, faint traces of scars on the thigh. From years of whipping and rousing debauchery, the same leg intertwined with a more tanned one, a feminine one.   
  
He watched his girlfriend's legs intertwine with a vampire, watched Spike perform his sexual motions while on top of a less than grinning Buffy.   
  
However, the girl appeared to be enjoying herself. She didn't grin every five seconds with a smirk like Spike did, but oh boy, was she approaching it.   
  
"Uhn…" Her voice faded, almost a content purr coming from her.   
  
The English vampire did not give pause, and soon Buffy was arching her back again. Once more, and then again, and again–   
  
"Oh God, Angel!"   
  
Thankfully, this wasn't shouted in her orgasmic ecstasy. She pulled up the bed sheet to cover her chest– like he hadn't seen it before– while Spike rolled onto his back. Spread eagle for a few seconds, the non-modest vampire then remembered certain…etiquette, and covered himself with a pillow.   
  
Angel's pillow.   
  
Buffy reached out, taking in a deep breath as she untangled herself from Spike's limbs, and the bed sheet.   
  
Angel only stared at this mocking tableau, unsure of what to say, or how to react. In the old days, he'd have Spike thrown up against the wall, a stake rammed dangerously near his throat. But now, he couldn't do that. He could only watch the girl he loved, had given up his eternal struggle for…make love to another man. A vampire.   
  
Like he used to be.   
  
Seeing them, together like this, made him more self conscious than ever, more aware of his appearance. A feeling of hatred washed over him, towards himself. So meaningless, insignificant and weak…His inner loathing almost overcame him, making his knees buckle slightly. Angel's hand was still on the doorknob, and he pulled the door shut behind him, before Buffy could get up.   
  
Angel couldn't breathe, needing to escape that confining room. He needed air. His lungs burned for it with a ferocity that was unimaginable. He needed to get out of that room, that place filled with both sad and vibrant memories. Angel staggered into the hall, mind racing, jaw clenched except for the few stray curses under his breath.   
  
Half-staggering and half running down the staircase, Angel missed the last two steps, tripping and losing his balance. He fell, not for the first time. He collapsed at the bottom, his erratic gait finally failing him. The wave of self-pity came on again in that instant, but soon gave way to another feeling of surprise.   
  
He could feel strong yet tender arms lift him up, a hand caressing his ravaged face.   
  
Cordelia wrapped her arms around his less than broad shoulders, enveloping him in her caring, tight embrace. She held him close to her, letting his head rest on her shoulder. Her fingers tangled in his ruffled hair, voice low and murmuring unintelligible words. Stroking his back, Cordelia rocked back and forth from their place on the smooth, cold floor.   
  
Neither of them said anything. They didn't have to.   
**Chapter 9**

_"You caught your girlfriend sleeping with another man."   
  
"Correction. Vampire. And I caught BUFFY sleeping with SPIKE."   
  
"I know that–"   
  
"Kinda seems more poignant if you use their names, right?"   
  
"Angel, please. What happened next?"_   
  
*   
  
She rocked him back and forth, running her fingers through his hair, voice soothing. Cordelia told him it was going to be all right, that he'd get through it okay… He didn't yell, didn't scream, or cry. Just looked haunted, pained, eyes staring into space. She adjusted herself from her crouched position, her fingertips running over his shoulders, of which she grabbed on, trying to shake some sense into him.   
  
"Angel. Speak to me. Please? Don't let me out."   
  
Foreboding eyes lifted slightly, before he shook his head, peering down, strands falling into place.   
  
"_Listen to me_."   
  
He showed some signs of recognition, looking down.   
  
"Don't you see where this is taking you?" she asked, voice strained, wispy bangs framing a concerned face.   
  
Her question, so familiar, so painful…   
  
_– "…Don't you see where this is taking you?" she asked, her hair short, sitting a short distance across from his desk with a young black man and a snappily dressed man with glasses. Yet even though her question, painful and raw in his ears, he could only feel the sharp edge of cold slicing into his heart –_   
  
"–Keeping this to yourself won't do you any good. You can't let me out," her voice came, strong and in control.   
  
Fumbling for words, he managed a nod. "I'm sorry. I'm… sorry."   
  
"It's okay. It's… It's gonna be okay," Cordelia said slowly, looking like she was trying to reassure herself. Angel turned away from her, about to be lost in his little world again.   
  
"You shouldn't have to put up with this," he told her, looking morose while he adjusted himself to sit on the bottom landing.   
  
_What? *I* should be saying that to *him*._   
  
"To think that… This is my life. Like that movie. Wasn't there a movie?" Angel wondered fondly, mind on old memories and forgotten actions. Inching closer to him, the still fresh memory of their vivid kiss in her mind, Cordelia shrugged.   
  
"Angel, don't take this the wrong way… I don't mean to offend you or anything, but do you ever wonder what life would be like if you hadn't shacked up with Buffy again?"   
  
He laughed a little, nervous, lame, and to himself. "It'd be no better than this."   
  
Patting his knee, Cordelia looked at him hard, peering through ruffled hair to view a tortured face.   
  
"That's true."   
  
*   
  
_"You never stopped to think about that, did you?"   
  
"When I was around her, I couldn't think of anything else. I just focused on her. She really… Forget it. I'm not getting into that again."   
  
"Perfectly all right… For now, at least. Go on."_   
  
*   
  
Damn, he was right for bounding down the staircase.   
  
After listening to Angel's basic and short explanation of what caused him to run, of which she guessed might be, he seemed to deflate. The anger in him diminished, anger that was once unbridled in such a strong and powerful figure. He was Angelus, the Scourge of Europe. Terror of… Continents, and all that jazz.   
  
Right now, he just looked sick to his stomach.   
  
"…Oh. I uh, I kind of saw Buffy walk past the hotel last night," Cordelia began, vouching her own semi-testimonial. "With all those looks…and how buddy buddy they are, considering you're her main squeeze, I thought–"   
  
"Was, her main squeeze. Past tense needed," Angel corrected her. At her astonished look, he ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed his face, feeling like he just woke up. "I don't know, though. I don't know anymore," he said through his fingers.   
  
The shrill ringing of the phone startled Angel and Cordelia, preventing her from responding. It also made Angel hesitate to get up. However, she did, gracefully running over to pick up the receiver.   
  
"Hello?"   
  
"Who is– Is this Cordelia, Angel's friend?"   
  
"Considering I'm only one of two females in this building, then yeah. Wesley, right?"   
  
"Yes. May I speak to Angel?"   
  
"What for?"   
  
"There was an– ah, don't touch that! …Sorry. There was a fight."   
  
"Sounds like you got someone in there with you?"   
  
"Faith. She's been wounded."   
  
"Shit."   
  
"Indeed. In the meantime, while she and I are uh, recuperating, perhaps you and Angel might check out the address we picked up? I'd go by myself, but I don't want to leave her alone."   
  
At this point, Cordelia turned slightly, viewing Angel out of the corner of her eye. He was still hunched at his place on the staircase, unsure of it all.   
  
_I don't want to leave HIM alone._   
  
"Give me the address."   
  
*   
  
"Get off… GET OFF OF ME!" Buffy growled menacingly, pushing Spike away. He frowned at her, watching her scramble out of the bed. Limbs twisted in his own, the sheets, the hastily thrown off clothing. Her body flexed placidly, pale in the moonlight that filtered in from the window. Buffy yanked a cover from the bed, trying to be modest but failing miserably.   
  
Spike leaned back, reaching over to the nightstand to pick up the cigs and lighter he left there. Just when he lit one up, Buffy looked up from pulling her jeans on.   
  
She fumed, face red and fiery. "THAT'S your solution? 'Oh, I'll just go have a light, and forget about the fact that I RUINED Buffy's relationship?"   
  
He looked incredulous. "WHAT relationship? You call that, that thing you got with the fucked up ponce… A relationship?"   
  
Considering just giving him the finger, Buffy straightened, fist clutching her shirt while the other hand covered her chest with the bed sheet. "Don't talk about him like that."   
  
"He's not even here."   
  
"I don't care, all right? What we did… THIS. THIS is wrong! This is not a relationship! This is a tryst. An affair. A fling, damn it!" Before he could respond, Buffy turned around, showing her back to him while she slipped her shirt back on. "Don't even. You and I both know it's not going to work out. You're evil, Spike, and I still don't get why I'm… Doing this, with you."   
  
Spike straightened, shoving the covers to block his lap from view. He almost seemed to chuckle at her last sentence, but instead his expression grew cold. "Don't you take the high road with me, Slayer. You can't deny that you wanted this. Remember? You remember how you came to me, asking, begging for it? It'd been so long, since Angel had gone away. And you wanted something to fill up the gap, the space he'd left right when he got depressed.   
  
"You didn't care for him anymore. That's why YOU came to ME. Because you just needed a quick fuck to make you feel better. But it turned out to be something more," Spike told her, voice lowering a notch. Shirt and jeans fully on now, Buffy could only stare at him in return.   
  
Eyes closing, she took this in. Took the spoken word of their secret love sessions, voiced by her pale blonde paramour. The confirmation that she'd left Angel for another man, carried on with him… But it wasn't the same. She didn't know if she loved Angel anymore, not since the accident. It was all so conflicting.   
  
"I think you should leave," came her voice, thin and trembling.   
  
Spike looked at her for a moment, then resolved to stand up. Fully bare, he walked past her, leaning in slightly. "If you think getting rid of me will solve your problems, then I'd like to see how you'll solve the mess you made of Angel."   
  
After he walked into the bathroom, Buffy wept.   
  
*   
  
They'd been walking for hours. It was late, somehow…so late…or early, whichever way you looked at it. She hesitated when it came to walking next to him. Should she walk slightly behind, or a step forward than him? Would it be okay if she leaned slightly closer to him, or were they to appear as total strangers?   
  
On second thought, why was she debating about him again?   
  
"What goes around, comes around," Cordelia murmured under her breath. The phrase popped into her mind from nowhere, vague and indistinct. She wasn't aware if Angel could hear her or not, since he seemed so occupied with staring at the pavement. His movements were jerky, stiff, on edge. Glancing left, right, jerking and twitching like a bird…he was nervous. Or at least… antsy.   
  
What else would you expect from a man who lost his eternal love to a stronger, more powerful man?   
  
Cordelia knew Angel was hurting painfully inside. She knew he loved Buffy; that he was still in shock as to how someone so close could be torn away from him. Gone. Not in the deadly sense, the passionate, mind, body, and soul sense. He appeared to take his relationship with her very seriously, almost like a job.   
  
What she knew of relationships was that people didn't necessarily get into them because of that aspect.   
  
Angel was silent most of the way, preferring to stay outside when they asked around for information. Cordelia pointed out that most of the people asked were demons, but he adamantly disagreed to join her. His pride, what was left of it, teetered on the edge, ready to slip and fall.   
  
Cordelia wondered about his answer.   
  
How would he be if he'd never stayed with Buffy? If he was a vampire? If none of this would have ever happened?   
  
Would he be the strong and powerful vampire he used to be, fighting evildoers by nightfall, trying for redemption?   
  
Or would this have happened no matter what?   
  
Conflicted as she was, Angel nudged her softly. Casting her glance upwards, he put a gentle hand on the small of her back, edging her forward slightly. "Think you can make it back to the hotel?"   
  
Cordelia sighed heavily, moving closer to him. "We haven't found anything, Angel."   
  
"We'll find something tomorrow. No use walking around like two idiots," Angel replied.   
  
"One idiot. You're not including me in that tally."   
  
Angel sighed deeply, fingers flexing in his trenchcoat pocket. The pavement was slick with rain, blurry images and lights reflected from the storefronts. It seemed like time passed quicker, these days, so heavily wrapped up in the pain, and heartache, and daily life. Logos, stray papers, garbage littered the streets, pop culture abound in the City of Angels.   
  
He slowed to a stop; she followed his lead, staring up at him.   
  
"Nothing of importance, except for people who had no idea what we were talking about," Angel told her, knowing well that she knew, she'd been there. She'd seen the crestfallen look on his face, another frayed end of the case leading to blank stares and unanswered questions.   
  
"Yeah," Cordelia responded, biting her lip. Her arms twisted behind her in a girlish way, before crossing in front of her. The light moved down, a gentle haze cast over them both. He drew her aside, right near a storefront with barred windows.   
  
Gaze scrutinizing, he touched her fingers. "You're shaking like a leaf," Angel accused.   
  
…Oh God…it was happening again…   
  
He'd said the same thing that fateful night when he and Buffy made love for the first time.   
  
Just thinking about it, those words especially, made it seem so much worse, so far off, old. Back to the days of childhood, teenage years. Grandiose words, strong meanings, frivolous things treated better than they should have been. 'Made love'. God…   
  
They had sex, and he'd gone evil. It was as simple as that.   
  
"I'm not cold," Cordelia chattered, surprised that she could get so chilly in California.   
  
A poor, trembling thing in his eyes, Angel shook his head, regretful. "I should've brought the truck."   
  
Cordelia brightened. "We're almost there. Back to the hotel, I mean."   
  
"I know. Are you all right?"   
  
They moved, continued walking. He had asked her that, and Cordelia looked at him, the slight difficulty for him, pain visible.   
  
"I'll be with you. That's more than okay."   
  
Her voice was low, trying to conceal the rush of emotions filling her, feelings of pain and doubt.   
  
*   
  
Reaching Wesley's place was too fast, too soon it seemed. Anger, shame fueling her legs, muscles coiled like springs, Buffy's fist rapped on his door. Why was she here? It was too late for her to remember…In both time, and the fact that the door's locks were being opened.   
  
No normal person sprang to the door immediately at two in the morning.   
  
"Buffy?"   
  
Wesley frowned, looking like he expected someone else. His eyes narrowed, opening the door wider for her to come in. She looked deathly pale, streaked wet with rain, boots muddy. "Did Angel give you my call?"   
  
_Angel–_   
  
"No. I came here on my own," Buffy explained, taking a step in. Feeling like a sponge due to the extreme wetness, Buffy could only stare. She stood across from Wesley, watching him lock the door up tight. Hat pulled down, she looked like a lost high school dropout, reminding her of the time she dropped out of college to be with Angel. It was a risky decision, and one she did not initially make. They'd tried to co-exist in two places, but after the Sunnydale debacle, and his accident, Buffy choose to be with him, to take care of him.   
  
"What happened?" he asked, decidedly flustered.   
  
"I…I don't– Oh God…" Buffy sniffed, baggy coat sleeves wiping away burgeoning tears. "He… He walked in on us. Both. Oh, he saw us, Wesley, he saw us together."   
  
"Calm down Buffy," Wesley instructed, touching her arm gingerly. "Who saw you with who?"   
  
"Angel. Angel saw me with Spike," Buffy said, her eyes growing wide with water. "Wesley…. I don't know what to do."   
  
"He saw you with…" She nodded. Wesley frowned. "Oh dear lord. You and Spike had sex?"   
  
Almost lunging forward, desperate, needing warmth to cling to, anything… Buffy sobbed on Wesley's shoulder, body wracked with grief. He tried to quiet her, calm her down as he rubbed her back gently.   
  
"Shh. Shh…"   
  
"I had sex with him… Why do I feel… like this?" came her sobbing words, before she broke into a fit of cries. Crying so hard, from deep inside, that she did not notice Faith in the doorway.   
  
Wesley opened his mouth to say something, realization appearing on his face.   
  
Standing still, Faith waited for her own tears to fall.   
  
But this time, she felt nothing.   
  
*   
  
It was late when they came back, very late. They quietly went up the staircase, and it was Cordelia who dragged Angel into her room. He thought she was drunk at the time, but then remembered she hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol. Neither bothered to check if Buffy nor Spike was there, because they simply didn't think of them. At least, not in the open.   
  
He took a full sight of the room cleaner than his own, and this wasn't even lived in.   
  
Nearly instructing him to take his clothes off– bad move there, she only meant his jacket– Cordelia threw her own soggy garment to the floor. She plopped herself down on a plush easy chair, tucking on leg underneath. Angel stood near the doorway, looking foreboding and dark in his duster and boots.   
  
"Take it easy," Cordelia instructed him, nodding her head to the room. "Get comfortable, for once in your life."   
  
Almost embarrassed, he looked about before gently draping his wet trenchcoat on the back of a chair. Taking another hesitant look around, Angel moved to the chair across from her, sitting down slowly.   
  
More silence, again.   
  
They had kissed.   
  
The thought sprung up in their minds again, the little smooch in the courtyard. Clearly rushed, quick, and damn it… Why were they thinking about it? Mostly due to the visions neither one knew the other had. Outer body experiences, they were called, but neither Angel nor Cordelia wished to bring about more questioning by telling each other about it.   
  
It was a very complicated relationship, having your time together based on fabricated lies and restricted truths.   
  
The silence settled in, Cordelia rubbing her ankle, mind far away. Angel, slouched in his chair, chin resting against his palm.   
  
Straightening in her seat, she looked over at him, a wondering look. He looked so depressed, even then, not doing anything. The room was foreboding, now that she realized it, so dark and lonely, even for a guest.   
  
"Don't."   
  
It was he who spoke, a strict tone in his voice.   
  
"Don't what?" Cordelia looked incredulous. Her grip on her ankle loosened, head canting ever so slightly. Angel's words were slightly blurred, not only because of him leaning against his palm, but because of the slightly crooked mouth. The same one she had kissed with her eyes closed, not bothering to care what he looked like. She only wanted to taste him.   
  
"I know you," Angel began, straightening in his chair. "From what I've gathered, at least. I'm in no mood for any psychoanalysis."   
  
She looked moody, hurt almost. "Psychoanalysis? What's with the touchy?"   
  
Angel blinked, hesitating. "The what?"   
  
"You. We just came back from a _clearly_ uneventful night, finding nothing. A little outing, which I may remind you, followed the moment I found you lost after seeing your girlfriend screwing another guy. Because of that, I think I'm more or less entitled to ask you if you're all right or not."   
  
Now he was squirming.   
  
"Are you?"   
  
"Am I what?"   
  
Now she was going to smack him.   
  
"Are you all right, you big dork?"   
  
A memory flitting in the back of his mind, Angel adjusted his position again, fidgeting. She had been around him long enough… Well, the past few days that they'd known each other… To notice that he did that whenever he was uncomfortable. Or at least, the head ducking thing. Averting his face, trying to shrink the tall and lean frame into nothingness.   
  
"I guess."   
  
More silence. He stood up, moving to the desk emptying his pockets in the meantime. A stake, other items, a lighter… He dropped them there, then moved back to the chair. Walking slowly, he looked at the room's setting like he'd seen it for the first time.   
  
"Hmm. Angel. Well, you certainly don't look like one."   
  
He glanced up at her, before sitting down again.   
  
"Sorry," Cordelia admonished, leaning forward. "I just don't know the meaning of tact."   
  
"Apparently."   
  
"How did it… Were you…? I'm… I don't remember what you–"   
  
Angel shook his head. "No."   
  
"Oh."   
  
"I have a picture of… me, before it happened," Angel said carefully, glancing to his bureau. Without another word from either of them, he went over to it, pulling out an envelope buried in the third drawer. He threw the envelope to her, and she immediately rifled through it.   
  
"Oh…" She came across a picture of Buffy, a small man with green eyes, and him… There were some lines on top of Buffy, a ghost like image. Perhaps the negatives got mixed, and two images were on the same photo.   
  
Cordelia thumbed the picture, looking at his former self. He seemed taller maybe… more muscular. Not much of a smile, but he sure as hell looked better than he did now. The man seated across from her was thin, hair more tousled and longish, looking half-dead. He always had a wounded look in his eyes, which had seen things far greater than they did now.   
  
He looked so in control, sure of himself back then. The girls probably kicked and bit each other over him. But now…   
  
Oh, how she wanted him to feel whole again.   
  
She stood up, tentatively walking to him and sitting on his lap. He pulled away when her hand rose, but her fierce gaze locked him in place. Soft fingertips ran along the curve of his broken jaw, along the scars of his face. She touched his right eye, kissing the flesh there tenderly. His heart accelerated. Her breathing was hitched.   
  
"Taking advantage of a disabled man is part of your plan?"   
  
Her fingers dug underneath his shirt. She kissed his jaw and neck. "You're not disabled," she murmured, reminding herself to keep her breathing controlled.   
  
"Okay. I'm disfigured. Remember that?" He wanted her to never stop, to be with her like this… He hadn't known such pleasure for too long.   
  
But she'd leave him eventually.   
  
"I don't care." She nibbled his ear. "I want you."   
  
"You can't."   
  
"I want you NOW," she repeated, unzipping his pants, hand slipping inside his jeans.   
  
"No, you're don't," He choked out, trying to put some sense into her. Trying to make sure she didn't get hurt. That she didn't waste her time on a pathetic being like him. That she wasn't just doing this to comfort him over the fact that Buffy, his girlfriend, slept with Spike.   
  
"I'm gonna tell you the truth, Angel. I like the way you look. But you have get in gear. You're alive. You're human. You take what you can, and deal with it. Besides…I need you for YOU," she told him, tapping him lightly on the nose.   
  
"For sex."   
  
"More than that, you big dork!"   
  
_– "Pfft. Fred can't even tie her shoes without 'Oh, you're my big fat hero!' around," Cordelia quipped.   
  
Angel looked downcast. "You think I'm fat?" he murmured–_   
  
He cried out, jerking away from her. Cordelia looked at his eyes snap shut tightly. He muttered through gritted teeth, "Not now."   
  
"Angel?"   
  
His eyes closed, narrowing, concentrating.   
  
Another vision… How many wracked his brain these days? He could barely think straight, much less move.   
  
But when he opened his eyes again, her saw her straddling him. Genuinely worried, or what could pass for it… Damn, he barely even knew her, and now they were… That this.. It was going to - to happen, wasn't it?   
  
He needed to feel her, to see if he was still alive.   
  
*   
  
They were standing.   
  
His shirt went over his head, her fingers curling the belt loops of his jeans. Hands met flesh, stroking the bruised upper chest, faded wounds and pale scars.   
  
Clumsy fingers met the straps of her tanktop, pulling it over wet and dark flowing hair. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it free, and slowly, arching, turning, they fell onto the bed.   
  
Wild, crazy, just needing each other.   
  
He was on the bed now, this light girl on top of him. Her mere touch sent chills down his spine, making his mouth water and ache for hers. She licked his stomach in little swirls of her tongue. He was lean, more or less as defined as Spike. Not that she knew about him. Well…she could imagine. He did wear that tight black shirt all the time.   
  
Thing was, she didn't take on an immediate 'throw him against the wall and have sex with him' feeling with Spike.   
  
It didn't matter. ANGEL was here now, not Spike. She tugged and soon both his boxers and pants came off.   
  
"Cordelia," Angel breathed, smiling at the dark hair streaming down on his face. She shook her head mischievously, raven rivulets making him laugh. He had such a nice, good laugh, a contrast to his normal, sad and foreboding self.   
  
She leaned down, whispering against his ear. "Are you sure you want me to–?"   
  
There was such trust in her eyes, familiarity. Longing, yes, from a girl he barely knew. A girl who had seduced a taken man. The anger flared up again, flashes of the harsh, fluid movements of Buffy and Spike, interconnected…they drifted into focus, bodies intertwined, moving, and moaning. Making love behind his back–   
  
"Make it stop," Angel instructed. Her underwear was soon off, and he found himself inside of her rather quickly, vulnerable and wanting. "Make it all stop."   
  
His movements grew harsher right after that, harsh like his face.   
  
*   
  
Faith could only slink away from her spot near Buffy and Wesley, inching back to the opposite room so that Buffy couldn't see her. The Slayer went on for a few more minutes, alternately crying then ranting. Wesley would have offered her a place to stay, but Buffy excused her behavior right after, then left, giving a full apology. She needed to let the guilt out, to find someone who could understand her on common ground.   
  
It'd been so long since Wesley had a girlfriend.   
  
Faith slid to the ground, staring far off into space. She knew at a juncture like this, she should be yelling and cursing. Spike was fucking Buffy, lying to her all this time. But Wesley's earlier bit of advice stuck with her. Spike didn't care for her anymore. He only cared for himself. So it was natural, in his dumb ass way, to move on to greener pastures.   
  
But still, next time she saw him, she was going to fucking MURDER the guy.   
  
"Faith."   
  
It was his voice, Wesley's, strong and cold, right over her. Faith looked up to see him standing there, offering a hand to help her up. She complied, standing up, and he brushed her arms with his thumbs slightly. His scrutinizing gaze reminded her of a doctor checking his patient.   
  
"Faith? Are you all right? I'm sorry for what happened between… Buffy and Spike."   
  
Head nodding mutely, Faith stared at the ground, trying to process it all.   
  
He eased his grip on her.   
  
"Don't."   
  
He looked confused. "Don't what?"   
  
"Don't… stop. Damn Wesley, I can't fucking deal with this… this feeling. It just hurts so bad, I don't know how I'm gonna deal with it," she told him, rubbing her fore arms. Face almost dismissive, she scrunched her nose. "I mean… Spike isn't perfect. Fine. I can deal with that. But it's like… we knew where the other was coming from, you know?"   
  
He looked flustered. "Coming from where?"   
  
An eye roll. "Feelings, man. We knew the motivation, the thoughts, and… the… the SEX. Aww. Fuck."   
  
Taking this… comment in, Wesley placed a gentle hand on Faith's back. He nudged her in the direction of the couch, and her legs moved. Boots picked up, down, walking. Her whole body was numb though, even worse than an all-nighter.   
  
Fight, that is.   
  
Uh huh. Riiight.   
  
"Just rest, Faith. It's too late for you to go home at this hour. And you're in no condition to go. Sleep. Just sleep," Wesley said, indicating her to lie down on the couch. Obeying, Faith turned to face the cushions, feeling a thin blanket draped over her side a few seconds later.   
  
She turned, Wesley straightened, pulling the blanket off.   
  
He leaned again, putting a hand to her forehead. "The least you could do is not get sick," he said, checking her temperature. Out of the blue, but he needed something to say. Well, something instead of unintelligible murmuring and gawking.   
  
And damn, he even smelled pretty good too.   
  
Faith leaned forward, in a rush, balancing to plant a rough and tumble smackeroo on Wesley's lips. He made a sound after her action, surprised, shocked, unwilling to stop.   
  
It was all turning into a bloody soap opera.   
  
This was Faith.   
  
This was wrong.   
  
Logic and reason were caged in his mind, yearning to be free. But his recklessness merely laughed in triumph, set free and wreaking havoc. He had responded to her, didn't push away, didn't reprimand her. He bloody well liked it, and didn't want to stop.   
  
It was Faith, after all. But still.   
  
Her fingers clenched on his collar, pulling him down to fall onto her on the couch. Adjusting himself, Wesley let himself go, shedding the cold exterior. He'd failed so many times, became lost, felt lost… And now here she was, kissing him, Faith. Faith was fucking kissing him, and he was going to go insane from the notion.   
  
"I…need you…"   
  
Her voice was a blur against his mouth, legs angling to wrap about his hips.   
  
"…To take your shirt off."   
  
And just as he obeyed, he found a reason to open up once more.   
  
*   
  
She was lost, scared, hungry and alone.   
  
Buffy walked away from Wesley's building, confused as to where she'd end up. Sure, she initiated the events that got her there, but that didn't mean she knew what she was doing. Right?   
  
Uh…right?   
  
She continued on for a while, reminding herself not to seem defenseless. Vampires loved that, and she wasn't in the mood for running into one right–   
  
…Oh dear lord.   
  
Her shoulder bumped his accidentally, her head tucked down before she could stop it.   
  
"What? You're just going to walk past me, like nothing?"   
  
God, that accent was too alluring in its sarcasm and annoyance.   
  
Buffy turned, seeing Spike there. The cigarette dangling from his lip, the bottle in his cold fingers showed he was drunk, or getting there.   
  
Spike motioned to her, nodding. "Come on, love. You know you want to go inside."   
  
"Spike…" Buffy began, clearing her throat. Resisting the urge to pummel him. "I… Some other time. I don't need this right now."   
  
"Ah. So that explains why you took the long route from the Watcher boy's house to just walk on down by my own little crypt to…" Spike trailed off, his smirk fading when Buffy approached him. She moved steadily towards him, making the vampire backpedal a few feet until he was at the front door to the motel room that he and Faith shared.   
  
"Shut up. Just shut up. Just shut up and kiss me," Buffy instructed, her eyes wild with fierce determination. A twinge of pain, sadness in her voice soon evaporated, mouth muffled by his own cold lips. They kissed feverishly, his bottle glinting in the streetlight, before Spike reached behind him and wrenched the door open.   
  
They fell inside.   
  
The room was no longer vacant, but occupied.   
  
Continue on...   
  
  



	4. Chapter 10

  
**Title: **If There Never Was   
**Author: **Ignited   
**Posted: **03-11-2002   
**Rating: **R for language and sexual situations   
**Email: **Ignited   
**Content: **Romance, Drama, Angst, AU-ish   
**Summary: **One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind…   
**Spoilers: **Everything up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of speculation here.   
**Disclaimer: **The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.   
**Distribution: **Disharmony, List archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!   
**Notes: **This has been sitting in my computer since June, at least. Along with two other fanfics that I planned to write, but unfortunately have no time to put real thought into them. So, this is a combination of three different ideas. With the emergence of _Vanilla Sky_, a similar but distinctly different story, I decided to finally complete this minor story, of which has turned into a full fledged monstrosity of a fic. It's my seriously screwed up and basically nothing alike, take on _Vanilla Sky._ Open minds are required, please…   
**Dedication: **To Steffi and Kath– for always believing in me, plus generally being helpful, caring, and showing good input. And to Melissa and Christie, who are fic goddesses and great friends. This one's for you. Chapter 10 Dedication: To Greenie, 'cause I'll miss him dearly!   
**Feedback:** I am a feedback junkie, so make me high.   


* * *

**Chapter Ten** - You Shall Not Commit Adultery   
  
_"If I could only see her face.. feel her again. Then I could die."   
  
"Why do you want to die?"   
  
"Because I'll never have her."_   
  
*   
  
Opening his eyes, he saw the sleeping face of Cordelia next to him. She was tranquil, perfect. He touched her cheek softly, getting a sleepy smile in response.   
  
_–Angel kissed her forehead, leaning back down to smile at the infant resting between him and Cordelia–_   
  
His hand froze, poised over her cheek. She could feel his proximity, a warm smile coming to her lips. Snuggling closer to him, Cordelia absentmindedly kissed his chest, bangs covering her closed eyes. He put an arm around her shoulder, letting her move closer to him. Angel kissed her head softly, relaxing with the scent of her floral shampoo.   
  
The realization that indeed, he formed his own liaison slowly rose into mind. And with Cordelia Chase, someone he barely knew… Had done things for her he normally wouldn't do. Heck, he even sang for her. But that was due to being slightly drunk.   
  
Okay, stone cold sober. But it must've meant something.   
  
Shaking his head to ward off his inner musings– that…baby… whoever it was– Angel sat up, gently slipping away from his position near her. Pulling the cover off abruptly, he made his way into the bathroom, idly scratching his chest.   
  
He lifted the toilet lid, proceeding to do his business before taking a brief glance at the mirror. Once finished, Angel passed by the mirror again, seeing nothing, going back to his bed.   
  
_Wait a minute._   
  
Angel backpedaled, looking at the mirror. His reflection was gone, but he saw the bathroom wall behind him, looking cleaner, brighter. His eyes strayed to view the inside of his room in the glass…far off. The room was straightened from what he could see with his limited vision, unlike the messy setting of his post-sex room.   
  
Cordelia was there, her hair shorter, blanket on her, he could tell. He saw it, even though he couldn't. A mental image, a picture clear as day. Tanned arms flopped on the bed, surface sunken in next to her. She was wearing clothing.   
  
He looked to his own Cordelia, leaning out of the bathroom doorway. Her back to him, covers pulled over her like an Eskimo. Legs bare, hinting at the intense nakedness of her lithe body. Her hair was wild on the pillow, dark and long rivulets spilling onto both his and her pillows.   
  
Closing his eyes, Angel swallowed, splashing some water onto his face. His eyes opened, horrible reflection coming back into place.   
  
"I'm losing my mind…"   
  
*   
  
In his dreams it was nighttime. It was always night. Probably a subconscious thing. He didn't know.   
  
Angel walked down the promenade, confused as to why it was empty. He stopped, hands in trenchcoat pockets, looking to the carousel. The festive music seemed totally out of place. The single rider did not. It looked like she belonged in that mythical world, a creature of pure beauty and light.   
  
Cordelia was laughing, head titled back, hair down. She gripped on to the multicolored pole, glancing left. Then stopped laughing. The carousel came to a slow stop. Jumping off, she slowly went over to Angel.   
  
"I knew I'd find you here," Angel told her.   
  
The girl looked at him in awe. She leaped into his arms, hugging him tightly, kissing every inch of his face.   
  
His perfect face.   
  
Cordelia pulled away, moving those rebellious strands of hair out of his eyes. "You have to know what to see."   
  
"What?" His voice was low, forehead now pressed against hers.   
  
"This isn't your life, Angel. Not the real one."   
  
She turned him around, letting him see the young black man a few feet away. There was another handsome one with glasses, and a skinny girl too. She had a cooing baby in her arms, swaddled in white cloth.   
  
"Like me."   
  
Angel turned, but Cordelia was gone.   
  
"Cor…delia?" He turned again. The others were gone. "Cordelia!"   
  
_"You have to know what to see." An echo of a phrase used once before… somewhere._   
  
"CORDELIA!"   
  
*   
  
Fingers trailing over the top of the dresser, Cordelia looked at the layout of his room. The bed, covered in dark mauve sheets, the dresser near it. It was much different from the room she had stayed in when she first came to the hotel. There were one or two articles of clothing lying about… that wasn't theirs. In their frenzy, they'd nearly ripped each other's clothing off before they had sex.   
  
They actually had sex. Weird, when she thought about it. And why?   
  
The dresser had the regular items on it: toiletries, a book or two, compact mirror. Buffy's hair stuff and bottles were set on one side, brushes mismatched near them. Her area was a little untidy, various makeup items thrown about on the vanity tray. Angel's side was nearly spotless: a brush, three books, what looked like an old CD, some stakes, lighter, sunglasses, a prescription orange canister of pills. They were labeled 'ANGEL SUMMERS'.   
  
Hazel eyes roamed the curve of the antique mirror, seeing photos tucked into the edges of the wooden frame. One of Buffy by herself, a young teenager. Another of Buffy and two others, a young guy with dark hair and a red headed girl. The three of them were close to each other, laughing. Another picture of Buffy, ice-skating. One of Buffy and Faith, arm in arm. Spike, Faith, Buffy and Angel at some club. That picture was old and worn out, but she could guess that was Angel. His edge of the photo was tucked beneath the frame. She delicately pulled the photo away, seeing his image scratched and worn, but there. Almost unrecognizable. He was smiling there, laughing at something.   
  
Interesting, that.   
  
Jerking awake, Angel shouted something incoherently. He was shaking when Cordelia woke him up. Her face was bright and scrubbed clean, hair was loose, wispy bangs in her eyes.   
  
"Angel! Jeez, are you all right?"   
  
"What…" His voice faded. He opened his eyes a fraction more than before. She was sitting next to him on the bed, looking intently at him. Fingers clawing the cover off, he touched his forehead gingerly. Feeling the scarred skin. Of course it was just a dream.   
  
"I'm okay…I think."   
  
"Get dressed." She threw a thin gray sweatshirt at him. "We're going out."   
  
"You and - I?"   
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "I'm playing baby-sitter, so the least we can do is have fun."   
  
Angel looked at her, scrutinizing. "Did Buffy tell you to baby-sit me?"   
  
She stood up, rubbing her arms. And regretting her choice of words. "I'll meet you in the lobby."   
  
*   
  
The actual reason as to why Cordelia mentioned baby-sitting was that Angel had things to do. More importantly, he had an appointment. At least, that's what the day-planner, or whatever those things were called, said on Angel's desk. Written neatly in Buffy's trendy script, it declared that today was his appointment.   
  
He had acted like a teenager, bemoaning the notion of getting up early. She mentioned what he had to do, and he muttered something about that it had "been a week". Indeed, it had been…or so. She was too caught up in the moment to remember.   
  
So they left early, more or less awake. He drove, though Cordelia wanted to, but he did it anyway. Men with their cars. Pffft.   
  
As long as he didn't start yammering if they gave him a shot and a lollypop, they'd be fine.   
  
*   
  
The sun's rays cast an irregular patch of light on the bed, leaving one firm, feminine leg warm while the other remained cold in the shadow. The body turned, moving, and dark raven tresses spilled over the side of the bed, an equally careless face resting on the edge. Faith's dark red lipstick was smudged all over her mouth and chin, evidence that she didn't bother to take it off BEFORE Wes started with the mouth-to-mouth.   
  
"Shit."   
  
A thunk was heard as Faith fully woke with a start, her hair disheveled, eyes wide open. She made the bed, rickety as it was, squeak, enough to make Wesley open an eye cast in her direction.   
  
"Faith?"   
  
Now he made the bed squeak by sitting up too. Only, he had nothing covering his chest, but it was normal. However, Faith quickly snatched the bed sheet to cover her breasts.   
  
Running a hand through unkempt hair, the precise two-day stubble making him look older, Wesley unwillingly yawned. "Faith, I–"   
  
"Shit. Shit," Faith repeated, dangling over the edge of the bed. She leaned down, trying to scoop up her bra from the messy room floor.   
  
Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Was it that bad that you have to respond by using such innovative expletives?" Sarcastic and with a swift wit, Faith really adored that in a man.   
  
"Oh no, baby, it was good," Faith told him, reaching over to caress his cheek. After giving up with finding her bra, the Slayer merely pulled her tanktop back on. "It was really good."   
  
"Are you sure you're comfortable with this?" Wesley asked, a stolid tone.   
  
Her eyes rolled in that way of hers, taking both hands to caress his chin. "Fuck yeah."   
  
They kissed again, slowly and enjoying every minute of it.   
  
Wesley fell back onto the bed with a sigh, resting his head on crossed arms behind him. "You'd think I'd come up with a solution to my problems in the romance area. But no, of course not."   
  
Disregarding his comment, Faith stood up, relocating some personal articles of clothing. "I don't care about Spike. Not after what he did. Stupid little ass."   
  
Wes leaned a bit, turning to lean on his side, elbow supporting him.   
  
"Are you sure?"   
  
Faith stood up from her crouched position, pushing a lock of dark brown wavy hair behind her ear. "Would I lie to you?"   
  
Before he could respond, and before she left his room, the girl shouted, "Don't answer that!"   
  
*   
  
He should have died. He didn't.   
  
He remembered the sight of two tons of Japanese manufactured metal fly through the air, bearing down on him. He'd been too slow with his decision to get out of the car, to follow her. Those precious few seconds cost him his appearance. There wasn't any time to get out of the convertible, once the hulking car flew at eighty miles per hour. It slammed down, fender forward, right onto the engine and dashboard of his own car.   
  
Metal squealed and broke like plastic, glass flying everywhere. He could recall his head lashing forward, and he woke almost three weeks later.   
  
The smell of sterilization and roses greeted his nose.   
  
Angel heard Buffy in the hallway, talking to a doctor. An eye opening, he could see her cross her arms, pouting. Spike came up behind her, talking to her. They both came into the white tiled room, leading Angel to snap his eyes shut.   
  
"…It's too expensive," Buffy was saying, frowning.   
  
"Expensive?" Spike snorted. "Well, y'can't just leave the poor bastard the way he is. Man's got to get another surgery."   
  
"We'll just tell him we can't for the time being, okay?" Buffy responded, looking from him to her boyfriend. "It's not like we have insurance."   
  
She sat on the edge of the bed, Angel feeling her light weight. Her delicate fingers stroked his hair…he could feel her chest heave soon, with crying.   
  
_–"Angel…" a brunette said, looking at him with such sorrow in her eyes, a hand on his arm–_   
  
Angel jerked upright, pulling the IV with him. Both Buffy and Spike jumped in surprise, the Slayer fumbling forward to keep him down.   
  
"Angel!"   
  
"It's.." He winced, jaw hurting immensely. He touched it…stopping. Then his pale fingers touched his jaw tenderly, cheeks, forehead… Only a minor strain on his side, feeling bandages move out of place, rub against his white hospital grown, and he turned. They weren't prepared for his sudden awakening; the doctors said it'd be a few hours more when he'd wake up from post-op.   
  
They forgot to take out the floor length mirror.   
  
Someone else was in the room, Angel thought at the time. Someone with a horrible face, bruised and beaten, jaw crooked, brow discolored and irregular on the right side. Features uneven, and scarred, disfigured and horrible. It took a while, but soon Angel figured it was himself.   
  
Spike had to spend an extra fifteen minutes clearing the glass away from the mirror that Angel broke viciously with a vase.   
  
*   
  
The British vampire leaned back in his chair, stark naked, smoking, and looking at the equally naked body of Buffy there on his bed. Her lovely little fingers curled around the sheet material, and he found himself jealous of the inanimate object.   
  
The office was empty he imagined, and it was so damn boring here. Faith would be there soon, and he'd never hear the end of it. These women knew about wrong doings, somehow. It wasn't necessarily a Slayer thing. More like women in general. And a fine old choice for the boy to pick, another Slayer for his sexual interests.   
  
He figured he could sell tickets to the showdown. Then again, it'd probably turn into an all-out brawl with him in the middle. Faith would take one look at him, smell him for Christ's sake, and she'd just KNOW. That's the way her mind worked, and why he loved her.   
  
But he loved Angel's Slayer, too.   
  
It was all very confusing when you thought about it.   
  
*   
  
"As of this time, it's too early to make a decision on your case," the doctor repeated in more or less the same context.   
  
Angel leaned forward, eyes narrowing, right one even farther to the point of almost shut. "It's been two years. Find a way."   
  
He felt Cordelia's hand on his stiff shoulder, muscles immediately relaxing. He hated hospitals. They were places of death…besides cemeteries. People died, people lived, people were born…it was all went full circle here. Angel had spent too many days in the hospital, whether it was right after the accident, or the other times he had come in for his friends and people he saved.   
  
"According to your files…" The doctor trailed off, nodding at the manila folder. "Ah. It seems that you've definitely reached the point for a new operation, but apparently your medical coverage– what there is, anyway– will not cover it."   
  
"Cosmetic surgery. Always from the pocket," Cordelia supplied, looking up at Angel. He looked down at the floor, considering that. She could feel a pang of sadness for him, wondering about how he was before it all happened. From riches to rags, but…different. From yum to…not so yum?   
  
"We could help you with the other results from the accident," The doctor suggested, taking a glance at the papers in Angel's folder. "Such as the torn ligaments in your shoulder or your damaged leg."   
  
Angel looked embarrassed, hands going into brown leather pockets. Cordelia knew he didn't want her to be there with him, listening to the numerous problems he now had. She didn't care though, because for once in her life, everything was easy street in comparison. All the shit Angel went through, being evil, working for good. And what happened? The champion's glory was cut short, restricting him to the sidelines.   
  
Cordelia got the impression that he wasn't even half the man he used to be. Yes, that was harsh. But true. She didn't go around and press his friends for information, but even they seemed to be distant to him. Even Spike his 'best friend'… Spike was oddly defensive of Angel, ridiculing him but all in good jest. He felt a responsibility for Angel. Faith and Buffy, however, they didn't actively talk about him. Which was extremely weird, considering that Buffy was Angel's girlfriend.   
  
"Maybe they could check up on those, then?" Cordelia suggested, looking up at Angel. She then looked to the doctor. "Or are the check ups not covered EITHER?"   
  
Ignoring her sarcastic and sneaky tone of voice, the doctor pulled Angel aside to the hallway counter. Cordelia stood in her place firmly, hands on her hips. If she was still five years old, her tongue would've been sticking out.   
  
"As of now, we simply do not have the technology for an exceptional case such as yours. All I can do for you right now is give you some medication. It can help with the headaches. That's all," the doctor told him. Angel nodded in response, strands of dark brown hair getting into his eyes. He waited patiently as the doctor scribbled something on a notepad, handing the torn paper to Angel. After giving the elderly gentleman a handshake, Angel watched the man go down the hallway.   
  
"That's it?" Cordelia sounded incredulous. "A slap on the shoulder and yeah, you're free to go?"   
  
Angel turned to look over at her, wincing a bit. He glanced down at the paper, smacking it against his hand idly before looking up at her. "What do you expect me to do? The medical insurance doesn't cover …that, and things are already tight enough as it is."   
  
"I'd suggest pulling a John Q., but you being the culturally retarded person you are, it would be a waste of breath," Cordelia responded dryly.   
  
"Denzel. Very thrilling performance in _Training Day_."   
  
"Touché. Pop savvy, are we?" Cordelia slipped an arm around his own, pulling him playfully along with her down the hallway. "Seriously though, what are you going to do?"   
  
Angel sighed, remembering the forbidden snippet he caught from Buffy's conversation with Spike right before waking from the coma. "I don't know."   
  
"Angel." They stopped near the elevator. She looked up at him, trying to read the emotions in his expressive eyes. "You can't just let this sit. I see you're hesitating to fix this, and I can't figure out why. Isn't that what you want? To be completely well again?"   
  
"What I want left me a long time ago," he answered, silently entering the elevator when the doors opened.   
  
*   
  
The hotel lobby was vast before them, cavernous and echoing. It was not properly maintained, but not messy either. Dust bunnies were in abundance, mostly because neither Buffy nor Faith found the idea of cleaning to be… worthwhile.   
  
"… That doesn't make any sense," Angel was saying when they walked through the hotel front door. Cordelia offered him a sly smile over her shoulder, walking backwards in that way of hers. He was grinning almost, a nice gesture on an otherwise not so nice face.   
  
"It does!" Cordelia quipped, glancing to him, and then to the lobby. She stopped, as did he, for they saw Spike and Buffy kissing near the office counter.   
  
It was slow, enjoyable. Great, until they noticed they had visitors. Buffy pulled away slowly, turning her head to view Angel, her boyfriend, and Cordelia, his new friend.   
  
Angel slouched a little, forlorn in his duster. "Buffy."   
  
"Angel," Buffy began, her fingertips lingering on Spike's arm. The vampire wore a dark green, tight fitting shirt and black pants, a subtle contrast to Buffy's light pink tee shirt and jeans. "You're…Back."   
  
"Went to the doctor's appointment, you know, the one scheduled a week or so ago," Angel clipped, his dark eyes roaming their close position and stance. "Glad to see that you reminded me," he added sarcastically.   
  
Buffy blushed slightly. "I figured Cordelia would remind you. How did it go?"   
  
"Fine," he responded.   
  
Both Cordelia and Spike were fidgeting. Anticipating, they thought, for the big explosion. It didn't come.   
  
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Cordelia…"   
  
Eyes lifting, the girl listened.   
  
"… Try to get Wes on the phone. We need him and Faith back here. Spike can do that, while you try searching for some info on Wolfram and Hart on the Internet," Angel told her.   
  
"I don't know how to use a computer," Cordelia admitted.   
  
"Yes you do–" He almost growled, correcting himself. "You should. Try and see."   
  
Both Cordelia and Spike slipped into the office, trying to conceal their presence.   
  
Angel turned to look at Buffy, her arms crossed in front of her.   
  
"Let's go upstairs," he said simply, and she complied.   
  
*   
  
Taking their positions on the battlefield– his room…well, their room– both Angel and Buffy could only stare at each other, trying to think of how to begin.   
  
How COULD you begin at a time like this?   
  
The lights were off, and he lifted his head, faint light from the adjacent bedroom area casting harsh shadows on his twisted countenance. The darkness giving him courage, Angel cleared his throat, straightening to the once imposing six foot one height.   
  
"You slept with Spike."   
  
To the point, he learned from Cordelia.   
  
Buffy's mouth opened, trying to find some air, to work. "Angel, I didn't mean to–"   
  
"–Betray me? Sleep with my friend?" He paced restlessly, like a bull pawing at the ground. They were jumping into this, head first, no games or beating around the bush. It needed to be addressed, to be settled and done. So that he would not fear such a void, such a yearning and aching in his embittered heart. He ran his fingers through his longish, dark brown hair, hand lingering on his forehead. "It's this, isn't it? It bothers you."   
  
"It's not that." She looked at the floor from her perch on the bed, one leg tucked under.   
  
"Then how come you won't look at me?"   
  
How had she fallen for him? Those conversations with Willow, how her friend gossiped, how Xander rolled his eyes. She thought Angel was hot, despite the sheer mysteriousness that surrounded him. And boy, had she been surprised when she found out he was a vampire.   
  
Physical attraction could lead to dire consequences.   
  
He wondered if she had that for him anymore.   
  
Buffy swallowed, trying to force down the lump in her throat. Her eyes moved upward, looking into his own hard, gaze unwavering.   
  
"You've change ever since the accident. Even _before_ that."   
  
"Buffy–"   
  
"When I'm with you, I just don't feel the connection we had, you know? When Doyle died, I tried to save you. You could've gone insane. You didn't, thank God. And we were happy for a while," Buffy reminisced, a twinge of pain and sorrow in her voice.   
  
"It didn't last," Angel said simply. What he was referring to, was unclear. The happiness, or their relationship as a whole?   
  
"You're not the same, Angel. I could deal with the depressed version for a while but… It's like you never gave up. You never wanted to hang up the old Batman suit, retire. You kept on going, and you made me more worried. You aren't a vampire anymore Angel, and in your condition you can't fight anymore either."   
  
He took this in, raising an eyebrow. "In other words, I'm even more useless to you than your friends are– were?"   
  
"Don't talk about them like that." There was steel in her tone.   
  
"Oh! Well, all right then. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not being there for you when I was in a fucking CAR ACCIDENT that messed up MY DAMN LIFE!"   
  
Buffy stood up at this point, moving ominously close to him. "You're twisting my words around."   
  
"It's too wrong for me to deal with my own problems for once?" Angel asked, a more or less rhetorical question.   
  
She changed the subject.   
  
"Where are those things a 'normal' girl like me should have?" Buffy asked, fingers clenching into fists. "You're HUMAN now. It's not like we can't do anything!"   
  
"That doesn't mean you had to go FUCK Spike!" Angel shouted through clenched teeth, jaw hurting again.   
  
"I needed someone - Someone to be THERE for me."   
  
"…And I'm not?"   
  
*   
  
**Two Years Ago**   
  
Angel drove a hard right, sending Buffy slamming against the side door. Boot planted firmly on the gas pedal, he shouted a quick apology. They were going to be late, and people would die. It was too soon for him to be near death again…he didn't want anymore of it.   
  
Doyle died nearly four months before. He could have saved him, but did not. Every night Angel blamed himself for his friend's death. If only he'd have been a VAMPIRE, he could have stopped it. No….just a mortal now, weak and dying faster, and GOD, when was the sedan ahead ever going to freaking MOVE?!   
  
"Come on, COME ON!" Angel shouted, slamming the car horn. Buffy visibly flinched, her small hand briefly touching the leather of his trenchcoat before he pulled away. He turned the wheel, barely sideswiping the car in front of him in his sudden flare of anger.   
  
"Angel, take it easy!" Buffy's eyes were wide, her hand reaching down between her legs to open the canvas bag there. She pushed the small mace aside, pulling the bag onto her lap. It was stuffed with useless things, a small makeup set, some Tylenol, an open wallet. A picture of them at the pier showed the couple on a much more uplifting day, smiling, arms around each other's waists.   
  
He gave a glance to her, a shrill ringing hit mortal ears. Digging in his trenchcoat pocket, his fingers hurriedly flipped the cell phone open and on. "Speak to me."   
  
"The place's gone mad. These things are– bollocks!– They're tearing it apart, Angel!" came Spike's strong, harsh voice on the other end. The grandsire would find out later on that Spike was bleeding profusely as he made that statement. Holding his side to put pressure on the wounds there, Spike leaned against the phone booth's see-through wall. There was a bad cut near his eye, not too far from the old scar on his eyebrow.   
  
"We'll BE there. Just try to hold your end down."   
  
"This is not a time for messing around," Spike joked wearily, wincing.   
  
"Don't worry. Everything's gonna be okay."   
  
_– "Everything's gonna be okay.." –_   
  
"Angel, there it is!" Buffy pointed, tapping him on the shoulder. The warehouse loomed, dark and silent except for random crashing sounds. He pulled the car to an abrupt stop near the curb. Saying a quick apologetic good-bye, Angel turned his cell off, glancing to Buffy. She was casually dressed in her hooded sweatshirt and jeans, adjusting the canvas bag strap on her shoulder. Buffy ran her fingers through her hair, pushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.   
  
Angel looked over to her, unlocking his door.   
  
"No." Her fingers gripped his forearm. "You're not going in there."   
  
Brow furrowing, Angel took in a deep breath. "I have to, Buffy. People will get hurt if I don't."   
  
"You'll get hurt if you DO." She caressed his jaw with a sweaty, cold hand. "Don't make it more harder than it already is."   
  
"Buffy–" Angel leaned to his right, just as the Slayer unlocked her door and got out of the car. "This isn't fair. You've fought side by side with humans before! Eventually, you'll find out that I'm well aware of how to take care of myself."   
  
"Angel…" Buffy leaned against the car door's window. She didn't want to hurt his feelings by pointing out the mistakes in his defense. Indeed, Angel was human, and in good physical condition but… After Doyle died, he retreated into himself. She tried to open him up, to talk about his feelings. Even then, he couldn't appreciate her help, and she grew more frustrated every time. This wasn't how it used to be.   
  
Memories of Spike's haunting words seeped into her consciousness. "You'll never be friends" he had told her and Angel once. They just loved each other too much. Yes, it was lust at first…and the feeling became mutual and grew beyond bounds. They'd been so wrapped up in their physical attraction and desire, and damn well…HUNGER for each other, they'd left things out.   
  
Sure, they had conversations, but in all the years Buffy knew Angel, he'd hardly talked about his past. What were his favorite things…Places. Anything. It was like an interrogation when she asked for his interests.   
  
So wrapped up in passion, they couldn't stay with each other. They wanted to go all the way, to pour the lust and frustration out. …And he left because of that.   
  
"You're gonna stay here in the car, unless you want me to chain you up in there," Buffy said pointedly. She flashed a bright smile. "Please Angel. For once, listen to me?"   
  
Crap. She was giving him the look again. The same one that made his knees buckle, and made him always agree to do whatever she wanted. He had this nagging feeling in the back of his mind, telling him to go with her. He didn't listen to it. His decision.   
  
"…All right. But just get Spike after you're done, and get out. …In fact, why don't you leave Spike there, and we'll just head on home afterwards?"   
  
If she were closer to him, she'd give him a playful smack. "Ha ha. I wish," Buffy replied dryly, pulling away from the car window. "Later!"   
  
Angel kept leaning, seeing her sneak off and slip into the warehouse. He hated waiting for her like this, sitting alone when she could be in serious trouble in there. But Buffy told him not to go, and that…was that.   
  
After all, how could he say 'no' to her?   
  
Nearly twenty minutes passed. Something was wrong. Sure, he knew that vanquishing evil wasn't easy, and would take long periods of time. But this… They weren't exactly sure of what they were up against. Both he and Buffy sucked at researching, and Spike wasn't much of a big help either. They couldn't count on Faith, since she came and went, and had no patience for computers or books.   
  
Supposedly, it was just some Crytharic demons wrecking the place, and setting up shop. The demons had no history of violence. They were like partygoers, sometimes wild but in a fun loving way. The petite, small demons didn't mean to hurt anyone. They didn't attract much attention before, but now a body had turned up. Angel Investigations was on the case.   
  
Angel didn't like the idea of waiting anymore, now that he was human. As a vampire, he spent hours, even days just waiting in silence for his prey, or for his enemies to leave or arrive. But now, waiting as a human meant that his life kept ticking by. Seconds turned into minutes, which turned into hours, and that meant he was getting older. Less vitality, less…   
  
He could fight, yes, but he wasn't used to fighting without the extra skills that vampires had. It felt like starting all over again. And the only experiences he had when he was human before, were drunken brawls. Most of the time he got his ass kicked. So, no help there. He couldn't even contend with Buffy. She'd kick his ass in less than an instant. At least before, they were somewhat equal.   
  
"Forget this," he murmured, reaching down under Buffy's seat to pull out the axe they'd left there, just in case. _I'm not letting her do this alone._   
  
He didn't see the warehouse start to burn in raging bursts of fire. He did hear it though, and that made him sit up immediately. A car's headlights briefly flashed across Angel's face, bathing him in a white brilliance. The light faded and shadow overcame it, just as everything…came falling down.   
  
Skidding and sliding, Buffy ran around the corner of the warehouse building, shirt torn and bloody. She halted, hands going up to cover her mouth as the Mitsubishi was thrown and crashed down onto Angel's convertible. Fender slamming into the windshield, the silver car bounced off and rolled on its side nearby, smoke rising up off of it, car alarm blaring.   
  
"ANGEL!" Buffy screamed, feeling Spike's cold hand on her shoulder. He had rushed up behind her, nearly panting and holding his stomach wounds. She took off like a bullet, Spike following behind her.   
  
"Buffy, be careful! The thing might explode," Spike warned her, coming up slow. He stared in disbelief, as Buffy moved to the Plymouth GTX, windshield and hood smashed in and demolished. Alarms sounded from far off, as the warehouse flames rose high into the air, black smoke lifting across a midnight blue sky.   
  
The monstrous being that had lifted the two-ton car collapsed into a panting heap nearby, skin leathery and bleeding. Buffy had torn the crap out of it, but it still managed to throw the car. And ruin someone's life.   
  
It was all a matter of chance, Spike could hear in his mind.   
  
He could smell the new, fresh scent of blood creep into the air, and by experience, he knew it wasn't his or Buffy's.   
  
*   
  
They somehow managed to return to the lobby, appearing to be unscathed physically or mentally. Angel was hurting, Buffy was hurting, but neither would let their… close friends in on what was happening. At the thought of close friend, Angel thought of Cordelia… her pretty face coming to mind, filled with a concern for him that he had only dreamed about before. She was so beautiful, wild and sexy… Dangerous, too dangerous for him.   
  
Great. The One with the 'Formerly' Angelic Face was getting a bit scared.   
  
He saw Faith and Wesley sitting down, just as he went down the staircase. Faith was drawing imaginary lines and letters on Wesley's thigh, his laugh startling and very rare.   
  
_Shit. Don't tell me they're together too._   
  
And could he even call Cordelia a girlfriend? Angel thought about the situation some more. Or were they just 'fuck buddies'?   
  
This was getting extremely complicated.   
  
One look in Buffy's direction showed her gazing intently in Spike's direction, his bent form hovering over Cordelia's shoulder, her fingers typing erratically on the keyboard. He inevitably followed Buffy into the office, pausing in the doorway.   
  
"Find anything?"   
  
Cordelia looked up, startled. "No, but I did find a lot of porn e-mails. Well…offers anyway… That's called 'spam', right?"   
  
Ignoring her question, Angel leaned back and gestured for Wesley and Faith to come over. The six were now in and around the office, looking weary, post-battle-ish. Even though there had been nothing of the sort, they were all tired. Lying and cheating took a lot out of a person.   
  
"The signing is tonight," Angel began, his duster slowly moving side to side as he paced. "Cordelia mentioned it on the way over. To reiterate, a group of vampires are teaming up with Wolfram and Hart. They were different, trained. They knew what they were doing. So this affiliation probably won't turn out to be something good."   
  
She was arching her back a little, a slight yawn from her position at the computer desk. The line of flesh showing at the bottom of her tanktop–   
  
Angel still had to talk to Cordelia, about … Buffy, amongst other things, but it would have to wait.   
  
Angel nodded to the weapon's cabinet. "Faith and Wesley, you're both on guard duty. Grab some weapons for backup. … Buffy, Spike, you both go in as infiltration. Cordelia and I will follow, but you'll–"   
  
Ouch. Another slight pain.   
  
Pausing from his pacing, Angel held a hand to his forehead. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them to look upon serious, yet eager faces.   
  
Shaking his head to think clearly, Angel started again, more focused than ever.   
  
"We don't have much time left to go over this, but it'll have to do. We can't botch this one up, guys. Cordelia–"   
  
She would have to wait for his answer.   
  
Because that's when Angel jerked violently, mental visions slamming him into unconsciousness.   


* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

"Angel?"  
  
He tried speaking to her, but he couldn't. His mind and soul screamed in frustration, but his body would not compromise. He could only hear his name being repeated over and over again, unable to respond. Those two syllables, spoken by her, were all that it took to keep him holding on. His memory, and body however, now they had other plans.  
  
"Angel. Angel, listen to me. You can't knock out, all right? Stay with me. Tell me if you can hear me… Please?"  
  
"Boy's lighter than he was before."  
  
"Of course, Spike. He lost a lot of weight, if it isn't already obvious."  
  
"Thanks for the comments, wanker."  
  
"Be careful when you lift him!"  
  
"Bloody…. Damn it, what do you take me for? An idiot?"  
  
"I'll refrain from answering that one."  
  
"Angel…"  
  
Cordelia, he tried saying, but his mouth wouldn't work. His eyes wouldn't open. He was still, lost in his own dark world. And as he waited, listening, he saw them.  
  
Saw them together.  
  
It had all gone so wrong.  
  
_– He felt the neck start to break, under his pressure. The demon was a tough one, he had to admit, but just as he -  
  
"ANGEL!," Wesley had shouted. So much confusion. Turning, moving to keep balance in the sewer tunnel. Should he keep twisting, confused - why didn't the demon die already? - or go and help her…  
  
The pretty girl, lost and adjusting to her born world again… She had a funny name, contrary to that of his old girlfriend, of whom she thought had an even more peculiar name.  
  
And that handsome young man had called out, "Fred!"  
  
Angel dropped the demon, not bothering to care whether it was dead or not. He had to save her. He was attacked, but he threw his sword, and he saved her.  
  
They had left, bruised and weary, jubilant all the while.  
  
He considered the demons careless, but he didn't bother checking whether the beaten ones still had a pulse or not –_  
  
"I think he's gone brain dead, man."  
  
"Faith, don't say that!"  
  
"He ain't moving! What the fuck's wrong with him?"  
  
"Shut up, both of you. We need to get him to a hospital."  
  
"We can't, Cordelia. It's not like we can just go up and say he's… I don't know WHAT he's doing."  
  
"He's having a vision! God, wouldn't you take someone knowing there's a risk they might die without help?"  
  
"… Of. Course. I. Would."  
  
_– She whispered to him in the falling rain, that girl, Fred, nearby, jacket raised over her head. And the blond woman, pregnant, hair stringy and wet, told him her last thoughts, wishes. She turned the newly acquired shaft of wood in her hands, and dusted herself.  
  
As the dust slipped from his fingers, the infant's wail broke the steady pattern of rain falling down. –_  
  
"Angel. Angel, Can you hear me? Angel!"  
  
_– They kissed slowly, tenderly. She pulled away from him, a hand on his cheek, fingertips on his brow. Smoldering brown eyes looked up into hers, a small yet distinct grin appearing on his face. She seemed interested in the spiked brown hair, cut short, watching her fingers slide through it.  
  
Her hand falling down to her lap with a light smack, head canted. Her arms went up again, slipping around his neck.  
  
"Do you love me?" she asked him, a hushed tone, but also in amusement.  
  
Angel's mouth opened slightly, eyes closing before he kissed her once more.  
  
After he pulled away, she angled her face so that her forehead met his. Again in a whisper, she continued, "Because if not, I'll have to kill you."  
  
And he did. Love her. –_  
  
Eyes snapping open, a hurried intake of air. It rushed into his lungs, gasping like he'd recovered from a near drowning experience. He tried sitting up, couldn't, his eyes glancing about wildly. Wide eyes focusing, the hotel ceiling snapped back into place, five conflicted faces peering down at him. He was still gasping for breath when Cordelia held him tightly, trying to pour some courage into his shaken being.  
  
"Cor–" Angel pulled away from her, resisting the urge to keep his head in his hands. God… the pain was excruciating. His body wracked with pain, he could only sit forward weakly, trying to clear the jumble of thoughts. Courtesy poured in from all sides, telling him to lie down, what did he want, need, feel. What did he see.  
  
Huh. What DID he see.  
  
She made him face her, shushing everyone and making them move back, to give Angel some air. Both Spike and Wesley glared at each other, Faith and Buffy off, half-concerned with their quarreling, half-paying attention to Angel.  
  
Buffy considered approaching Cordelia and Angel, but then noticed their proximity and decided to gently pull back Spike instead.  
  
They were so close, like she and Angel use to be.  
  
Brushing a strand from his eyes, Cordelia looked at him, communicating without words. She felt those pairs of eyes on her, how they all looked at her. Spike, Faith, Buffy and Wesley. Acknowledging the fact that at this crucial moment, when Angel's life was teetering, she was there for him. Not them. It was her. And she barely knew Angel, but strangely felt connected to him.  
  
They noticed the closeness, the nearness that instilled a spark of rage in her.  
  
How dare she give into a man, a vampire? After all the times she'd been burned… Living on the streets was not easy, Cordelia Chase knew. It wasn't like she grew up in a posh estate in California. Her mother worked hard to make sure that she grew up right, all the way up to her untimely death.  
  
As for her father… well, she never had one. Not really.  
  
She never met him. A man who couldn't care for the mother of his child, his own flesh and blood...  
  
He was the reason she grew to distrust men.  
  
It took all she could to survive, to be raised by her grandparents. To join up with others for the same cause. Superiors, older people who had lived in this squalor and heartbreak for decades. Those who hated vampires, tried to save people, learned how to live the hard way.  
  
They sent her to meet a man. No. To save him.  
  
It was vague though, this mission of hers. She originally intended to stop the gang; it was her plan. She met up with Angel though, and it looks like her purpose took a different route. Fate, she knew. Her mother always let her know that she was special, but that's what mothers did. They said those things to you, because you were more precious to them than anything in the world.  
  
She made her feel special.  
  
But now, Cordelia felt weak.  
  
Cordelia saw Angel's shoulders slump, the tense feeling in his muscles appear as he tried to stand. He was weak, she knew, and the vision had taken a lot out of him. More so than she could guess. It looked horrible and painful to experience.  
  
_Good thing that never happened to me,_ Cordelia thought.  
  
Her anger burned within her again, and it was misdirected, reaching those focused eyes. It seeped into her vision, she knew, delivering a look of disgust, hatred within herself for giving in.  
  
Angel looked at Cordelia.  
  
And he saw it.  
  
Pushing up, away from her finally, Angel stood up. He staggered a few feet, turning. In a mock drunken stupor, Angel closed his eyes for a moment. Everyone else hesitated, nearly speaking, taking steps forward.  
  
"I'm okay," Angel stated, avoiding Cordelia's gaze. "We… we need to go– to the signing. Yeah. Let's go."  
  
Buffy nodded, then looked to Spike. Breaking his mode of constant harsh gazing at Wesley, he did a double take in her direction.  
  
Spike straightened a little, moving towards Angel. "Right, let's take a look a you, why don't we?"  
  
Before Angel could say anything in protest, he was gently escorted into the office area, and into the adjacent private office, far from the concerned voices of his friends.  
  
"He's not going anywhere."  
  
Cordelia turned to look at Buffy, the speaker. The blonde girl's hands were on her hips, a firmness in her voice that she only knew to belong to a loved one. Even if she and Angel didn't agree on their relationship, Buffy was still concerned for him.  
  
But right now, it seriously ticked her off.  
  
"_What_ did you say?" asked Cordelia, her voice strong enough to make Faith and Wesley's heads turn.  
  
Buffy seemed vexed. "Angel can't go with us. If he does, he'll just slow us down."  
  
"She's right. He can't," affirmed Wesley. "The vision took a lot out of him. If he goes along with us, there's a high possibility that we will not be able to succeed with this mission."  
  
Faith, behind Wesley, offered a shrug to Cordelia.  
  
Majority won.  
  
And Cordelia did not want to disagree any longer, because in that tired, stone heart of hers, she knew they were right.  
  
*  
  
_"But you went."  
  
"I did. Things didn't turn out the way they intended."_  
  
*  
  
Angel pulled up outside the bar where the party was to take place. Located in the better part of town, it was more like a dance club, than a bar. A converted warehouse, like the bronze. A strange symbol blazed in bright blue neon on the front, a small crowd of people filing in. They were all dressed very well, and the burly security guards politely nodded to them when they walked in. The neighborhood was very quiet at this time of night, but even from across the street, Angel could hear the pounding of techno music coming from within.  
  
He glanced over to Cordelia. She was sitting in the passenger seat of the dark black convertible, flexing her fingers. Her manicured nails lightly traced the dashboard, as she made a few stabbing motions with her fingers, as if striking an imaginary spider crawling there. It reminded Angel of Drusilla and one of her little habits.  
  
"This is the place?" Angel asked, feeling a trifle uncomfortable. It wasn't the first time that he went to a place like this. He just didn't like being around so many people since it made him nervous. Angelus would've taken the opportunity to have a large massacre, but Angel didn't think that was a good idea. Of course, he had frequented the Bronze, a club in Sunnydale, many times before. But that was only because he was either waiting for, looking for, or being with Buffy. And he'd been to places like these, back in his dark days. So the club brought mixed feelings to mind.  
  
"Yeah. This is it," Cordelia responded. She leaned over to him, gesturing towards the neon sign. "That means 'luck' in Japanese. Odd random tidbit that I read somewhere."  
  
"Interesting. Am I dressed appropriately?"  
  
Cordelia glanced at Angel. He wore a loose dark gray shirt, and black cargo pants. On top of that, a medium gray duster. _Must you even ask? You have this killer sense of style, Angel,_ Cordelia thought silently.  
  
"You look great," she answered, lightly patting his thigh. She pulled away and slumped against her door, hazel eyes darting left and right. Her own outfit was what she'd call modest: black leather pants and boots. Her cobalt blue, long sleeved shirt remained unseen as her waist length black leather jacket was zipped up. It wasn't cold out, but she couldn't help but feel weird. Mostly because of that scary vision… Yeah, the one Angel had earlier.  
  
_No. The one that happened while we were kissing_, she thought.  
  
Angel took in the way she fidgeted, figuring she was nervous again. _Something important is going down tonight,_ Angel guessed. He looked across the street, thinking that four security guards stationed outside would be a little much.  
  
Getting out of his car, and slamming the door shut, he waited while Cordelia followed suit. She looked up at him with big, dark eyes, looking afraid. His muscles relaxing from her scared stare, an overwhelming feeling of concern hit him. Angel wanted to protect this girl. So he offered Cordelia his arm, which she took, and they walked across the street, towards the club.  
  
"Wait," Cordelia mumbled, as they reached the sidewalk. She had a weird feeling. Her eyes widened.  
  
Angel was just about to ask her what was wrong, but Cordelia grabbed his collar, pulling him close to her and near to a cleaners storefront. They leaned against the glass, hearing a group of footsteps.  
  
Cordelia's eyes widened once more, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of an incoming vehicle. Still holding Angel's collar, she pulled him close to her, kissing him forcefully on the mouth, her hand reaching into his trenchcoat. Her cool eyes darted in the group of people's direction, hinting for him to act.  
  
Angel's response was a slight nod of his head, as he was still kissing her. His left hand caressed her face as his right hand braced himself against the glass storefront. Leaning into her, he had a smirk on his face. From a distance, the two looked more like ordinary lovers showing their affection in the quietness that was night. The group of young people walked by them, and into the club.  
  
Cordelia pulled away from Angel, nodding in the group's direction. "She looked… familiar," she whispered.  
  
"Oh. So you really weren't trying to get some?" Angel leered. This wasn't like him, but he wanted to make sure that she wasn't afraid of him.  
  
"You know what they say. I like to have my cake _and_ eat it too," Cordelia quipped, sneaking a quick kiss on the cheek. She tugged on his arm, dragging him along with her to the front door.  
  
Angel looked up, the main bouncer towering over him. The former vampire was usually taller than his companions, so a big guy like that made him feel weird. And short.  
  
"You got ID, man?" The heavyset black man asked, his shaved white friend looking like he'd pounce at any second.  
  
"Of course we do, silly," Cordelia said, a protective hand splaying across Angel's chest. Sliding over Angel like a snake, she took out her card from her jacket with her other hand, showing it to the bodyguard.  
  
The guard took a glance at the card, then handed the IDs back to Cordelia.  
  
"And what about that dude?" The white security guard asked, glaring hard at Angel.  
  
Angel had a fake smile on his face, but he was unprepared for this interrogation. Quickly, he figured how he might fight these guys, sizing up the odds. _Four security guys all together_, he thought. _A bit hard, but I can–_  
  
"ID? What does he need an ID for? He looks well over 21, if you ask me," Cordelia started.  
  
"Just takin' security measures, Miss. There's a few people we don't like comin' round here."  
  
"Oh. I see." She paused, considering that. "Come on, baby. They're like the other places."  
  
Confused at her pushing, Angel could only raise an eyebrow. "Other places?"  
  
"You know. Discrimination! Based on looks, fame, money… Oh, honey, if they only knew…!" She took a step back, one arm gripping his, the other hand splaying across her forehead dramatically. "WHAT a strong, fine, and talented man you are! And oh, such a wildfire in bed! Ohhhh."  
  
"Miss, miss, you can go in. Both of you," the fierce looking guard quipped hastily, not wanting her to cause too much commotion. He nodded enthusiastically, opening the door so they could go in.  
  
"Thanks," Cordelia piped up, an arm around Angel's waist. She hurried him inside.  
  
*  
  
"Buffy, I don't see how this will– Hey! HEY! Watch the hands!"  
  
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Spike," Buffy replied drolly, removing her hand from his belt, a gun shaped object in her fist. She straightened, glancing at Spike, then at herself. They were both wearing dark clothing, his dark trench and her black jean jacket. Both were cold, pale, and damn well meaning to get into the club.  
  
Thing was, the sneaking-in idea grew kinda complicated.  
  
There were guards all over the place. Buffy figured she could try a back or side entrance with Spike. The guards would definitely recognize her, since she was the Slayer after all. Same with Spike, Faith, and Wesley. All were connected to her, all had come across Wolfram and Hart in the past.  
  
Angel and Cordelia, now they could get away with it.  
  
He was careful, meticulous when it came to detective and investigating stuff, these past months. Angel made sure the hotel wasn't bugged, tripped, or wired when he came back from the hospital. No wait, even before that. He had grown more productive and determined after Doyle's death, at least, when it came to that kind of stuff. More like singled-minded.  
  
They wouldn't recognize him now, not with how he looked. Cordelia was new to the fold, so she got off easy too.  
  
At least, that's what they hoped.  
  
It didn't matter though. Angel would never get to the meeting in the first place.  
  
"Stand back or you might get your eye poked out," Buffy quipped, raising the device that resembled a gun, aiming towards the darkened night sky.  
  
"What? You're feeling cold already?" Spike leered.  
  
"Shut it."  
  
"Yes ma'am."  
  
"This is soooo Batman," Buffy said as she pulled the trigger. The mechanism went off, metallic chain and hook shooting up into the air, disappearing. Soon, a clank was heard, the hook connecting with some object on the roof. It was a three-story building, so not much of a distance. Buffy tugged on the chain, making sure it was taught.  
  
Spike lifted the Slayer handbag Buffy carried with her, taking the gun from her and putting it in the bag. "Where'd you get a little bauble like this?"  
  
"Angel had it. Don't ask me where he got it from," she replied, an almost sarcastic tone. Giving him a look, Buffy pulled her dark ski-cap down over her ears, blonde hair stark against dark shoulders.  
  
"I don't see why we're put up to this."  
  
"We're doing this because Faith can't handle the stealthy route, and Wesley has to calm her down on back-up."  
  
"Fine. Go knock yourself out. Literally."  
  
Then, she began to climb.  
  
*  
  
"How do you do that?" Angel asked, suddenly hit by the pounding beat of techno music. The deafening music never seemed to pause, and the colors and lights hitting Angel's senses made him almost reel back in shock. People were dancing on a packed dance floor while others sat by at tables, sipping drinks or just talking. The lighting was blue, reflecting off a row of mirrors almost level with the high ceiling.  
  
"What?!" Cordelia blinked, a bit surprised by the atmosphere. She was used to this kind of scene, but it'd been a while since she went to a place like this.  
  
"What you did… back there!" Angel shouted to be heard over the music as Cordelia pulled him through the crowd.  
  
"It's the Chase charm," Cordelia yelled back. She slipped into an empty dark red booth, Angel sitting across from her. A waiter, dressed in black came by, tilting his head as he waited for an order.  
  
"He'll have a beer. I'll have a Bloody Mary," Cordelia said, leaning forward on the table. Angel just nodded politely, having no intention of actually drinking. Sure, he could get drunk. But something might happen, and Angel wanted his senses at their highest ability.  
  
"Would you like some blood in it?" The waiter asked.  
  
"Eww." She shook her head. "No."  
  
Cordelia smiled as the waiter walked away. "All I had to do," she whispered, Angel straining to hear her voice. "Was crank up the allure mode. Works every time." She noticed his nodding to her jacket. Fingers reaching in, Cordelia handed her ID to Angel.  
  
"Handy if you're underage and want to drink," Angel said after inspecting her card. "And you're supposedly twenty two?"  
  
"Twenty one, twenty two, who cares?" She shrugged. "It's just a number. And anyway, you're lucky we didn't have time to go get you a decent ID."  
  
Angel glanced at the card, then smiled, remembering old times. "Angelus Galway? I like the sound of that."  
  
"That's where you're from, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Born Ireland. Died… Ireland, at twenty eight. Weird."  
  
"Twenty eight? I feel old," Angel smirked in light of the age. He was not two hundred and forty odd years now… Not in the physical, human sense. Twenty nine years old. He never lived to see the day in his human life.  
  
"Well, weren't you around that age?"  
  
"I was twenty seven."  
  
"Oh brother," Cordelia sighed. "No need for exact details."  
  
They were nervous, the two of them. Each response was barked, zinging and loud over the thrilling drum of the dance beat, the swaying crowds around them. Yelling to be heard, Angel could feel his temples throb, the vision aftermath amplified from the loud environment. So, to cover their pain, the doubts, the meandering, they talked.  
  
The waiter came by with their drinks, and Cordelia thanked him for his services. She handed him a tip from her back pocket and he disappeared into the crowd.  
  
"I think this expired," Cordelia muttered, swishing the drink around in its tall glass. The liquid looked thick. "Eww. I said 'no blood'. What part of that couldn't he understand?"  
  
"We didn't come here to drink. The party, remember?" Angel seemed impatient as he pushed his mug of beer away. "When are we going to stop the meeting?"  
  
"We're going, we're going. We can't just rush in there, show our fists and they'll back down," Cordelia replied calmly. She ran her finger over the tabletop, eyes fixed upon the surface.  
  
"That's true." Angel backed down, figuring she had a point. "I hope they'll hurry up," he growled as he starting tapping his foot, leaning forward slightly in the booth.  
  
A moment of silence passed between the two, as they listened to the lively crowd and music around them.  
  
"Bloody Mary?" Cordelia asked, pushing the glass in front of Angel, the blood swishing slowly in it. She smiled at him, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Angel wrinkled his nose in disgust, then rubbed his eyes.  
  
_This is going to be a long night_  
  
He took a long drink, figuring he'd need it.  
  
*  
  
Ryuuza Fujiwara, up and coming associate for the hanzaisha soshiki- criminal organization- known as the Chintsuzai, leaned back in his leather chair, his fingers steepled together in front of him. Dark black hair slicked back, handsome features, and almond shaped eyes, the asian man wore a gray armani suit, which looked good on his lean form.  
  
"Nothing out of the ordinary," he muttered. Zora had him stationed at the security post, located in an office upstairs, overlooking the club. Zora being Zorania, that witch or whatever she was. Contrary to popular belief, the Chintsuzai contained non-vampire members… demons, witches, even humans. She was his boss, sadly. Or at least, higher ranking official in the organization. But that would change. Once this whole thing with Wolfram & Hart was finished, he'd be the boss.  
  
Ryuuza took another glance at the small black and white TV. The screen flickered every five seconds to show a different view from the cameras set up within the night club. He had no idea as to why they had to go through so much security regulations tonight, but he heard Zora mention something about 'distractions'.  
  
As if to confirm his thought, Zora slinked into the office. With golden blonde hair piled upon her head, dark green eyes, a heart shaped face and small, pouty mouth, Zora looked like any model on a catwalk. She leaned close to Ryuuza's chair, her small body clothed in a shimmering light pink gown. Naturally, she had to look her best. And she just damn well knew she always looked her best.  
  
"Anything of importance?" Zora sneared, getting only a curt nod from Ryuuza in response. Dark green eyes flicked to the screen. The camera showed a high angled view of the dance floor. Then a view of the front door. Another view of the corridor where the back rooms were. A view of the secluded booths. Then, of the bar-  
  
"Wait a second!" Zora snapped, flicking Ryuuza's shoulder.  
  
"What?" Ryuuza muttered, already half asleep.  
  
"Can you get that view of the booths? I wanna see something," Zora responded, thinking she saw someone familiar.  
  
"Sure." Ryuuza pressed a couple of buttons on the control board, the screen flickering to show the booths. Couples were sitting, talking and drinking, some occasionally laughing at a joke. They were all dressed very well, and some looked very drunk. Zora squinted.  
  
_Is that who I think it is?_  
  
"Think you can get a zoom view on this thing?" Zora asked.  
  
Ryuuza pressed a couple of more buttons, the camera zooming. Zora pointed towards the lower left corner of the screen, and Ryuuza panned the camera view so that it pointed towards one particular booth.  
  
Zora leaned close, seeing the back of a man's thin shoulders which were hunched forward. She couldn't see his face, but she could clearly see the beautiful brunette sitting across from him. That face, those eyes, that hair. No mistake.  
  
"It's her," Zora breathed, a smidgen of anger in her tone. "It's the girl from the factory. The ones the seers talked about."  
  
"And the vampire?"  
  
"Angel?" a voice asked quietly.  
  
Zora and Ryuuza turned, seeing a young man in the doorway to the office. His dark blue suit and light blue shirt were nicely pressed. Light green eyes glanced to Ryuuza, then Zora. The man with short brown hair, Lindsey McDonald, leaned against the doorframe with his hand. An attorney for Wolfram & Hart, he had overhead the conversation. And he knew only one vampire that could cause potential trouble. The vampire with a soul. Or at least, former one, as the firm had tracked.  
  
"Is it Angel?" Lindsey repeated, brusquely walking up to them.  
  
"Uh, no sir. It's um, another one," Zora said meekly.  
  
"What do you mean, 'another one'?" Lindsey's tone dripped sarcasm. _Don't tell me he has more little friends._  
  
"It's a girl. I know her. I've seen her."  
  
"A girl?"  
  
"God, she can't even dress right. Look at-"  
  
"What?!" Lindsey grabbed Zora's shoulder, turning her to face him. "Another vampire with a soul?" _Interesting. Another problem for us to face._  
  
"No, sir. Just a normal person. Her name is Cordelia, like the seers you have working at your firm said," Zora added, blinking rapidly like a little child caught doing something wrong.  
  
"Get some extra security. I don't want her to mess up our plans," Lindsey said, starting to walk out of the office.  
  
"Don't worry, sir. There's already a large team located on the ground floor. If anything happens, I'll let you know," Zora assured him, getting a wave of his hand as he walked out.  
  
"Make sure that bitch doesn't pull out stakes and dusts the whole place down or something!" Zora barked at Ryuuza, making him sit straight in the chair. He picked up the cell phone from the control panel in front of him, ready to call the security team leader.  
  
"My ass is on the line. If you mess anything up, you'll wish you were never born!" Zora screeched, stomping out of the office.  
  
Ryuuza rolled his eyes, and dialed.  
  
*  
  
Stretching, as if to ward off tired muscles from scaling the wall, Buffy stood up from her crouched position. She did feel all sneaky doing this, up on the roof. There were two guards, she could see them. Running a short distance, the Slayer ducked behind a boxy looking structure on the roof. Knowing Spike would soon arrive– even though he was silent, vampires did that– Buffy relaxed.  
  
Only for a second, though. Soon, there would be two unconscious guards on the roof, and one knocked out young man inside the club.  
  
Buffy had to take down Angel. Because he would thwart the signing.  
  
And she couldn't have that.  
  
*  
  
"I still don't see why we gotta be crouchin' here… I'm in the mood for some serious ass kicking. Not this stealthy Mission: Impossible crap," Faith groaned, sounding bored.  
  
"I'd liken it to James Bond," came Wesley's hushed reply.  
  
"Hmm." She paused, considering that. "Who would win?"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
Flashing before his eyes, the brightness settled so that Wesley could see the match clenched in Faith's fingers. They were both on back up, while Angel and Cordelia went in as infiltration, Buffy and Spike were the second team in. Nothing was occuring outside, at least, not from their vantage point crouched on a fire escape. Sure, not exactly hidden, but it was dark and they were in the shadow. The outside walls were stained with rain, garbage in the small alley…  
  
It was spooky, and cold. She nestled closer to Wesley, longing for the warmth of his dark leather jacket, her own denim jacket giving her little warmth.  
  
"Who would win?" Faith repeated, her head canted. "Ethan Hunt, or James Bond?"  
  
"James Bond, by a far margin," Wesley answered, his chin lifting in defense of all things British.  
  
"But he doesn't have the appeal," Faith countered.  
  
"What do you mean by that?!"  
  
"Sure, alluring, tuxedo, shaken not stirred and all that. But it's just not the same as good old, leather wearing Tom Cruise."  
  
Wesley rolled his eyes. "I suppose it depends on the person. Besides, we're supposed to be quiet," he added, looking down the alley.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Faith admitted, casting a dark look down the alley. "Boredom absolute."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
*  
  
"Okay. I'm tired of sitting here," Cordelia muttered, standing up in her seat. "The meeting should start any minute."  
  
"Fine," Angel said, standing up. He felt tired, yet somewhat caffeinated. Sitting around all night, watching other people dance wouldn't be good. They had to stop this alliance from happening. Or they could watch the bodies start to pile up.  
  
"Where are the back rooms you were talking about?" he asked, his hand clutching around her arm. He needed to be as close to her as possible. Mostly because it was easy to get lost in this crowd of trendoids, and because he didn't want to shout their plans so everyone could hear them.  
  
"They're over there. Near the bathrooms," Cordelia said, grabbing his duster sleeve. She started to pull him along behind her, trying to get her bearings in this loud and busy environment. The lights assaulted her eyes, making her feel a little light-headed. After years of living in the dark streets, she had good night vision, but she wasn't used to the many colored lights that flashed and pulsed in rhythm to the techno beat.  
  
Cordelia slipped through the crowd, pulling Angel behind her. She looked up at the walls near the bathrooms and along the sides of the dance club, seeing more security guys. The muscular men were talking amongst themselves, more filing out of side rooms as the minutes wore on. Every now and then, they stole a glance to the crowd, as if looking for someone.  
  
The pulsating beat throbbed to match the pounding of her nervous heart.  
  
And up through the skylight, she saw a flash of blonde and black.  
  
_Buffy. She's gonna… I can't. She can't._  
  
"Crap."  
  
"What is it?" Angel looked concerned, just as Cordelia lead him to a side corridor, a few scattering of people here and there, talking. The walls were dark gray, the doors black. The modern style faintly matched with the rest of the club, one or two mirrors along the walls. Cordelia glanced at the doors, figuring that there were extra side rooms and offices behind them. _Just perfect_  
  
"It's nothing. Don't worry about it," Cordelia assured him, tugging him towards the direction of the rooms, the memory of Buffy moving past the skylight fresh in her memory.  
  
Buffy was going to do it.  
  
_"He's not going anywhere."_  
  
A swallow, molten lead dripping down her throat.  
  
_She can't do it. She just CAN'T._  
  
"I think this is it," she whispered, letting go of his sleeve and turning to him. The two stopped outside of a dark black door, a red sign marked 'PRIVATE' on its surface. "They might've kept some vamps inside, just to guard."  
  
Angel glanced to the mirror on the wall near the doorframe. Her lovely, determined face, a slight sheen of sweat. His, dark, foreboding and horrible. Disgracing her presence.  
  
Angel nodded, loosening his secret weapon. A wooden stake, attached to a wrist harness, racheted into his hand. He held the stake out for Cordelia, which she took while his other stake snapped out of his wrist gauntlet and into his hand. Taking a step foward, Angel wrenched the doorknob open easily, moving inside while Cordelia moved behind him.  
  
The lights in the room were off, and Angel blinked a couple of times, trying to get used to the darkness. Quietly, he listened with normal senses, searching for any sound of life, a heart beating, someone breathing. He heard none of the above in this dark, empty room.  
  
"There's no one here. Wrong room, I guess," Angel said.  
  
Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his head and neck. He faintly wondered what was going on, before he fell face forward to the ground, unconscious. The dark, brooding man didn't notice as Cordelia stood over him, the stake's sharp end in her fist, blunt end facing out.  
  
"I didn't want it to be this way," Cordelia murmured, closing the door behind them. The stake was still in her hand as she bent down close to him, looking at his troubled face, troubled eyes closed. The girl was intent on finishing the mission, no matter what the cost. There were too many lives at stake...  
  
No matter if she had to break his heart in order to do it.  


* * *

**Part 12**: Do or Die 

  
  
_(Notes: Argh. Writer's block sucks. Anyway, it all goes smoothly from here. Smooth as in easier for me to write. Not smooth for the characters. Pfft. You think I won't continue to submit them to my own brand of torture? All righty then. This part is a bit dark and has some disturbing imagery folks, so be warned. I don't write really dark stuff much, so we'll see.)_

There was much planning to be done, more so in the area of how Cordelia Chase would handle the unconscious body of Angel.  
  
"I'm - sorry, Angel," came Cordelia's voice, muffled slightly. She held fast to the strip of duct tape hanging from her mouth, the roll dangling over Angel's slumped form. Cordelia dragged his body over to the closet, kicking the posh leather chair into place. It was the kind that reclined and wheeled about, comfortable and sleek. Cordelia kicked it again with her boot, just enough so that it moved into the closet, a small little room.  
  
She hefted Angel up into the seat, surprised at how light he was, trying to make him comfortable. Apparently, he was hurting more than she thought; what with all that rustling, he still hadn't woken up. He was alive though, and that was all that mattered.  
  
Going to work swiftly, Cordelia bound Angel's wrists and ankles firmly with the duct tape, tying him to the 'twisty chair', as she thought of it. Double-checking to make sure he couldn't move, she applied a last strip of tape over his mouth.   
  
_Watch enough murder movies, and you get the procedure._  
  
"Sweet dreams."  
  
A stray caress of her fingers ran along his cheek, checking his temples, remembering the bruise she'd made on the back of his head and neck from hitting him from behind. Her fingers trailed the curve of his jaw, so slow, his forehead.  
  
She closed the door and locked him inside.  
  
_'Cause I sure as hell won't have any._  
  
Her fingertips lingered on the closet door surface. It was an office, she could see, plain and industrial. The regular desk, immaculate filing cabinets, dark tiled floor. Her sad reflection looked up at her; Cordelia leaned against the door. She turned, pressing her body against it. Feeling him through it. She pressed harder, ignoring the pain of her breasts meeting the wood, just trying to feel him.  
  
It was an almost sexual movement for her, feeling invisible palms caressing her flesh like… like that horrible and sensual other night… She just tried to imagine him, feel him against her. Because it transcended all the pain and cold inside.  
  
God, she hated this. Leaving him alone and vulnerable like this.  
  
She had touched him, liked him dearly. She didn't care for the monster he once was, the monster he looked like now.  
  
And that, she could tell, was because she–  
  
The door to the office opened abruptly.  
  
Buffy's question was followed by the door slamming shut behind her.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
Cordelia's eyes snapped open, hair whipping to bother her pained expression. One, two steps away from the door, chest and heart screaming in protest. "He's – He's in the closet."  
  
The Slayer moved to the desk, leaning her boot against its edge. She pulled up her dark pants, tenderly touching a fresh bruise. "Good. I was going to do it, but hey, you got dibs."  
  
Knowing Buffy's casual demeanor meant that she wasn't followed, Cordelia's chin jutted out in defense, furious steps taking her over to the petite blonde. "I don't think this is a good idea."  
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow, stretching, glancing to the door. She looked a little weary, but wired, having just beaten up some guards on the roof. "You know there wasn't any other choice."  
  
"There could've been," Cordelia snapped, wishing to turn and just apologize to Angel.  
  
"We agreed to this before we left the hotel, Cordelia," Buffy responded. "Remember? You saw that Angel wasn't up to it. He'd only get in the way."  
  
The brunette seemed snarky, pissed. Arrogant at this. "Thank God I got to him first before you did. Who KNOWS what the hell you could've done to him."  
  
Buffy's expression grew cold. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
The tension between them could choke a horse.  
  
"Let's just finish this." Cordelia sidled up to the office door, eyes half closed. She didn't want to go on with this. Yes, she had to, but… not without him…  
  
Buffy followed her, jaw set. "All right. But if you get in my way…"  
  
"Same here," Cordelia snapped, her eyes narrowing.  
  
Opening her mouth to respond, Buffy stopped, gesturing to the door. She nodded to it, and Cordelia followed her over, slowly, trying not to make any noise.  
  
"You think this is gonna work?"  
  
A voice, outside. Brunette and blonde angled their heads against the door to listen.  
  
"It better. If it doesn't, McDonald will have someone's head for this. Literally. He doesn't want anyone to make him look bad," came a separate voice.  
  
"You think they're still gonna join up, though? The group of vampires with the firm?"  
  
"I don't know how that's gonna work out. But hey, it's to our advantage. We get a rough seventy five percent of the cut, they work for us. They don't like it, they get staked, killed, man. It's that simple."  
  
"Dude, this better work. 'Cause if it doesn't, I ain't got no insurance to cover me."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
Smelling cigarette smoke, Cordelia could tell the two men had stepped into the hallway for a break. They were probably guards. And had unwittingly gave the Angel Investigations team an advantage.  
  
Buffy nodded, an amused smile. "Bingo."  
  
"Better be," Cordelia agreed.  
  
And somehow… they made it through the door without clawing each other's eyes out.  
  
*  
  
He could almost anticipate the slaughter.  
  
Or punishment, what have you. His kind did not like failure, and would gladly find retribution. Zora had failed, at least, that was what he could guess, given the hushed murmurs and whisperings. She had seen that Angel and his friend outside, and had order guards. There was no doubt he could be a problem. More so because then Angel had disappeared. She had not captured him. She had failed.  
  
The Chintsuzai did not tolerate failure.  
  
Only a few knew about it. It had no leaked out to Mr. McDonald, nor Ms. Morgan, two of the lawyers handling the signing. They would soon find out. Morgan slower because she was still at the main firm building, but she took part in the deal.  
  
Running his fingers through jet-black hair, he moved aside to let some burly looking men past him. Demons, he could smell, wearing guises of humans. This was not an all human club, but it was easier to transport demons from place to place using disguises.  
  
As long as they'd find Angel, they would be all right.  
  
In the meantime, he prepared himself to hear Zora's neck crack after their next meeting.  
  
*  
  
He stirred, head snapping up. Nearly knocking a long, thin object, Angel opened his eyes slowly. Peering in the darkness, he could make out a string. A string hanging from a light… Shelves, dust, a bucket. The object.. a mop.  
  
It was a closet.  
  
He was stuck in a closet.  
  
_Damn it._  
  
This was not a good thing.  
  
Resisting the urge to curse, Angel took in his surroundings again. Thinking. Rationalizing. Looking. Just plain out holding his breath to keep the smell of detergents away. At least human senses did not bring them out in full force. Because, hoo boy, that would suck big time.  
  
_Cordelia?_ He tried to inch forward. _Are you there?  
  
Sure, like she'd answer. She's the one who put you in the closet in the first place, you idiot._  
  
Again, more shifting, inching. A shaft of light angled in from the door edge, though locked. Not large enough to fully light the closet, but just enough to show his chair. It was one of those executive chairs, large, leather and comfy, his wrists and ankles duct taped to it. Cordelia had left him there, and his thoughts faded to hours before. How they gave him looks, not wanting him to go along on the mission.  
  
_So, this is it._  
  
He was more dedicated to his purpose now, in certain ways. Angel would see that the job is finished, that everyone would be all right. He didn't mingle, or talk to those he'd save, though. He let Buffy and Faith do that. They were good with people. Not like he was. But anyway, the thought of him botching the mission did cross his mind.  
  
Once or twice. Nothing to full on, nothing to worry about.  
  
Still, being confined in such a small space, tied… It freaked him out. And seemed almost like a premonition. Of a slow death.  
  
"Mrrrrmph." She got his mouth, too.  
  
Taking a deep breath– steady nerves, man– he shook the chair violently to his left, the armrest hitting the tall shelves. A small shudder ran through the metal, but nothing else. Again, another hit. Again. And again. Now, an old mug nearly took his eye out, falling down. Office supplies littered the shelves, stray staple boxes and paper clips raining down. But that mug, which fell onto his lap after being quickly directed by his shoulder… Now that was the key.  
  
In what little light there was, Angel examined its contents. Pens, paper clips, pencils. Stuff you would see on a teacher's desk.  
  
Now, a letter opener, this was something good.  
  
Angel lifted his thigh a little, letting the baubles move, the smooth letter opener brush against his jeans. Before it fell to the floor, he angled his wrist to catch it.  
  
A weapon, and his key.  
  
*  
  
"Faith. Faith!"  
  
Calling out her name in the dark of night was risky for the young Brit. The amount of guards was impossible to calculate, save for the two, three that Buffy pummeled on the roof. He could only tell by the quick smacking sounds, the sounds of hands and boots meeting flesh, her short grunting.  
  
However, his more virulent and dark-haired Slayer leaped with an aesthetic grace down to the pavement, casting her wild gaze briefly on Wesley. She then turned and took off quickly, fluid like a cat, down the alley. She'd grown tired of waiting, he knew, and the real 'partying' as she liked to call it, was happening inside. They were all in, he thought, trying to tally up.  
  
Spike. Where was he?  
  
And before she could turn the corner, she shouted with an air of excitement to Wesley, "It's starting! Get your ass over here!"  
  
"Oh dear," Wesley cursed under his breath, in a tone not unlike Rupert Giles.  
  
Things were growing more complicated by the minute.  
  
*  
  
Chase, they called her sometimes, did not like this plan… whatever the fuck it was, well, she hated it now. They all agreed Angel could not participate in the mission: He'd mess it up. Although she knew they were right, she kept telling herself, she didn't like it one bit. Buffy was right behind her, she knew, and she could hear more scuffling, some muttering from Buffy. Long corridors of metal hung from the ceiling, the air conditioning. Sure, it was better than getting caught by foot, but in this way, espionage was the key.  
  
Faith wasn't supposed to take this part though, as she was backup, so she'd be coming around later. At least, that's what Cordelia hoped. Knowing the girl's rambunctious nature, she might tire of waiting.  
  
"Cordelia, think you're gonna move anytime soon?" Buffy asked, frustration creeping into her voice. Blonde hair aggravating her further, she waited. Cordelia had paused, inching a little to move to see Buffy behind her. The cramped air ducts and tunnels were annoying, but the only means of transportation. However, it did not help that no matter how fast Cordelia crawled along, _Mission: Impossible_ style, she still felt worried about Angel.  
  
"Shh. Listen."  
  
"…And in doing so, we can reach an amicable form of an agreement," Lindsey McDonald stated, sounding quite pleased. Buffy and Cordelia shuffled to angle themselves to see the hotshot young lawyer through the air conditioning vent. He was in some kind of office, the big furnished ones with long, polished wooden desks and comfortable leather chairs. A body was on the floor, near the door. Blonde hair, a tight fitting dress. The girl Cordelia saw earlier. Dead, her neck broken.  
  
There were other people in the room, sitting down. Exquisite clothing, well groomed. Some looked like executive types, others looked like those who were rich but well traveled, able to fight for themselves. Some were vampires, she could tell, and there were vampire and demon guards lining the walls.  
  
Buffy poked Cordelia gently, gesturing towards the room.  
  
_Now, to reveal the little plan. If they listen to us, that is._  
  
"We use some of our resources, contracted to your firm, but it is still sixty forty in our joint ventures, in the Chintsuzai's favor. No other option," said another man, wearing an immaculate gray suit, Asian features smiling cruelly. "You understand I'm merely a spokesperson for the organization, as my superior was just… unceremoniously discharged."  
  
"I do understand that Mr. Fujiwara, and as a representative of Wolfram and Hart, I am sorry for your loss," responded Lindsey good naturedly, but not truly meaning it. "We at the firm feel that is the best option that will suit your needs."  
  
_Blah, blah, blah. Bullshit, all of it._  
  
Fujiwara nodded, casually wiping the stray flecks of blood from his hands with a handkerchief. "Right then. And where is the dotted line I have to sign?"  
  
Lindsey, his smile fading ever so slightly, nodded to an assistant. The young woman came over to Fujiwara's place at the table, a portfolio in her hands.  
  
_Make your move._  
  
The door slammed open.  
  
Two guards fell through, down on the office floor, unconscious.  
  
The room, everyone, suddenly rose in an uproar.  
  
And Angel stood there, face twisted into a human mask of fury, lip cut, wounds fresh, and blood flowing.  
  
So naturally, the vampires were ecstatic.  
  
Fresh meat.  
  
*  
  
In her mind, Cordelia had two reactions.  
  
One, Angel was hurt. Two, Angel was dead, either by those in the room, or by her hand. He wasn't supposed to… Damn it. Buffy only fidgeted, anger clear on her face. They couldn't speak for fear of alerting someone to their presence.  
  
"All right, who started this without me?" Angel asked, anger in this voice. Anger infused in a general question. His friends had betrayed him, gone along with this little mission, and ignored him. Keeping him in a damn closet. It pissed him off.  
  
He really didn't like tight spaces.  
  
"Hold it!" Lindsey called, gesturing to the Wolfram and Hart guards who were readying their batons and moving closer to pummel Angel into submission. Fujiwara followed suit, ordering his own guards to cut it. The vampires were uneasy, mouths open, feral faces constricted. No vampire liked reigning in his demon when the blood was flowing.  
  
Angel nodded in Lindsey's direction, looking calm amidst the guns and stun guns pointed at him. "Lindsey."  
  
"Angel."  
  
"So that's the famous Angel everyone's chattering about," Fujiwara realized, gaze scrutinizing. "You looked taller in the video tape."  
  
Pausing to consider that, Angel shrugged it off. He glared at Lindsey. "Been a long time comin'."  
  
"That's Angel all right. He's just gotten uglier," Lindsey agreed.  
  
"You can't sign that contract," Angel went on, ignoring Lindsey's comment. "Don't."  
  
Fujiwara, amused at this advice, cocked his head. "And why not?"  
  
A clamor was heard, something hitting metal, and then–  
  
Some plaster rained down, broken, a part of the ceiling fell. The air conditioner vent had burst open, two forms falling with it. They straightened, and Angel could fully see Cordelia and Buffy stand up amongst the broken metal and plaster. Right on top of the strong oak table, the girls blinked rapidly, falling into fighting stances.  
  
"You could've done that a bit more extravagantly," Cordelia drawled, looking over to Buffy.  
  
"My arm was starting to cramp. I needed to flex it." Buffy looked around at the startled faces from her elevated perch. "And why is it that I feel like stripper now?"  
  
An eye roll, and Cordelia blurted, "The contract is uneven. Wolfram and Hart will use you guys to their advantage and give you squat in return. That's how they are, isn't that right Mickey D guy?"  
  
Lindsey, startled, could only back up a little, pointing at the two girls. "Take them out!"  
  
Snapping his harsh gaze in Lindsey's direction, Fujiwara growled, "Is this true?!"  
  
Lindsey hesitated. A fraction of a second, and Fujiwara's eyes narrowed at this.  
  
In response, the lawyer backed up a pace, continuing, "Take them all out!"  
  
The guards of Wolfram and Hart merely shrugged, wanting to please the lawyer. The stakes extended from batons, demons puffed their chests to look bigger. And soon, the room, filled with over twenty beings, turned into a melee. Wolfram and Hart versus Chintsuzai, versus Angel Investigations. No questions asked.  
  
Hard and brutal, the anger erupted, bodies flying, vampires decapitated, dust swooshing in spirals. Stakes ratcheted, bullets ricocheted off walls, sending chunks of metal and plaster down to the floor. Buffy and Cordelia held their own, while Angel tried his best.  
  
More guards filed in, more Chintsuzai operatives. It was a fairly large room, and despite the numbers, the amount of people remained the same. Vampires were dusted, allotting more space. Bodies piled up. The fight crashed into the hallway.  
  
"Bloody hell, I miss all the fun!"  
  
The thin blonde vampire, Spike, downed his gin and tonic, threw the glass, then jumped eagerly to pummel a Chintsuzai guard. He had infiltrated the club, right after Buffy, but stayed near the dance floor and bar, not only because he was order to, but of his own preference. He'd like a drink to calm him down, and he could keep an eye out on things.  
  
So that's how Spike ended up flying, thrown by a particularly nasty looking demon. No matter. The vampire was up again, vamped out and snarling.  
  
Ah, such a thrilling ride.  
  
*  
  
Faith lurched to her left, letting the jagged edge of the beer bottle sail past her face and break on the bar counter. Her leg arched up, boot slamming into the face of the vampire that nearly gouged her eye out. She let him have it, kicking the shit out of him before her stake found his heart, clean and true. They kept coming at her, but more dust billowed into the air, a sure sign that they were winning. She couldn't make it to the back rooms where the real fight was going on, but as long as she covered what would hopefully be their escape route, everything was good.  
  
Wesley, however, was struggling with some clawing demons, horns, tails and all. They were yucky all right, but the weathered Wesley still had a thing or two in store for him. He was amazing, she thought, so different from the Sunnydale years. No clumsiness, just a cold, calculated menace to him. Vampire staked, move on. Punch, throw, kick, demon died. Move on.  
  
It was exhilarating to behold his violence.  
  
Her personal preference. Interesting, that.  
  
Pausing for one second two long, Faith felt her head get yanked backwards by another vampire. By now, about half of the club patrons had filed out, others continuing to sip their drinks or carry on their conversations. They were of the supernatural nature, those who lived amongst carnage and arguments, demons against demons. It was a rule of their lives, and no one could break it.  
  
Tables overturned, glass, metal and plastic debris flew up, got kicked, littered the floor. It reminded her of the restaurant.  
  
Fingers flexed, digging those claws, her nails into her oppressor's arms. He yelped, she spun him around, staked him. Faith moved to Wesley, back to back with him. Her arm snaked around to give him a little pinch on his behind, followed by a quick kiss.  
  
"God, I love this!" Faith shouted, in her own brand of ecstasy.  
  
Before Wesley could respond however, doors burst open in the hallway, making even the deafening music seem low. Gunshots that were once slightly muffled rang true to their ears. The pulsating beat of techno music was the backdrop for four bloodied warriors running and limping toward them.  
  
Angel, Cordelia, Spike, and Buffy rushed at them, tiredness and mute pain on their faces, black and blue all over. Taking another look, Faith could see the near fleet of people after them, vampires, demons, all either dressed nicely or in uniforms of Wolfram and Hart.  
  
"I take it this is our cue to leave," Wesley surmised, backpedaling and nearly tripping as the gang tore out of the club, pushing past still dancing patrons. They found themselves making a mad dash across the street to the parked convertible, all six piling in, limbs and arms poking each other in their rush. It didn't matter to them though, and the car went on.   
  
The colored streetlights seemed to light the way home, and Angel took their guidance willingly, mind filled with endless thoughts. The lingering sense of depression and aloneness gave way to contentment, Cordelia at his side. Bruised and battered, she had lived, and touched him now, wanting to be close to him.  
  
He couldn't argue with that.  
  
*  
  
_"That's it. That's all I can remember."  
  
"It can't be. There must be something."  
  
"There – there... No I can't think of anything else. No more, all right? I'm just tired."  
  
"I need more Angel. I need to know more. You can't leave this hanging."  
  
"I don't– I don't remember. I can't, all right? I can't."  
  
"Try to. Just try. Search for it, Angel. You know you can–"  
  
"I DON'T' want to remember!"  
  
"Search, Angel. Please? Search for it. Grab hold of it. Grasp it Angel. What your heart and soul won't allow you to forget. Say it. Say it!"  
  
"…"  
  
"Angel… Angel?"  
  
"…I…"  
  
Those dark eyes went up, a terrible coloring to them, a saddened shade of dark gray.  
  
"I remember."_  
  
*  
  
They had won.  
  
The air carrying the scent of sweat, blood, and exhaustion, Angel ran into the room with Cordelia, her moves liquid and graceful. He could feel his clumsy fingers lift her top off, bad memories falling away. He didn't care about the closet, the signing, Buffy. He cared for …feeling this new girl, the taller, raven-haired beauty.  
  
Clumsy fingers managed to pull her top up, and she was already done with yanking his. To their own different beat and unheard music, they twisted and turned. Mouths meeting, sucking, kissing, pulling away, again. Rinse and repeat. Furiously, they tried prying each other's clothes off; everything was happening so fast.  
  
But slow. Falling to the surface, clamping on, turning down. It seemed like their little escapade to her bed, their bed, had taken minutes. It was only a few seconds.  
  
The pain, anguish, and distrust all faded, and he could only feel her lips against his. Imagining those closed eyes, those spry fingers trying to grab on. Those closed eyes, not looking at him, not viewing the wreckage, but only anticipating the fall.  
  
They found the bed somehow, and they were both naked, trying to forget about it all. Trying to feel. They were so damn needy these days, that it scared Angel. He never this sort of sexual hunger, not even in his Angelus days. The demon would take whatever he wanted, and be damn well happy with it. Angel, on the other hand, after a horrific experience had become… a sort of 'sexual comfort' addict. And it was bad, and wrong, so wrong for him. It was freaky, that he needed it…  
  
No. It had to be something more.  
  
The whole thing… them… it couldn't have been just that. Just sex.  
  
Was it?  
  
"Angel, I'm sorry," Cordelia breathed against his mouth, brow constricted. He maneuvered himself into a comfortable position on top of her, not wanting to crush her. Like that was even possible.  
  
He kissed her again, another shattered piece of his being falling into place. "I don't care. It doesn't matter."  
  
And they were soon at it after that. Again, and again, the panting, the breathing between two scarred souls. Over and over.  
  
His own eyes were closing, continuing his rhythm of thrusts, his lips meeting hers.   
  
He felt the world open up, a flower rising to the sun. How beautiful it looked, how happy he was to feel Cordelia with him, under him, beside him.  
  
In him.  
  
Angel pulled away from his nestled place at her neck, her hair soft and silky.  
  
Feeling like he was on a roller coaster– the inevitable sense of falling combined with dangerous excitement, those dark and forever troubled eyes opened slowly.  
  
"I love you," came the three small yet precious words from her lips.  
  
Buffy's lips.  
  
Buffy's smile, Buffy's face.  
  
Confused at this, Angel could barely take in a hurried gulp of air before her mouth was on his. Not reciprocating, the young man– for he was one again– could only stare in shock… horror… befuddlement. This – it wasn't right.  
  
It wasn't…  
  
He was with her, in her, Buffy…  
  
"And you can count on me, because I'm the Dark Avenger," Buffy said, her mouth poised, turning into a wide grin as a fit of giggles spilled from light pink lips.  
  
How could this... It didn't make any sense…  
  
He kept on with the thrusts and– and the pain and–  
  
_"I wish I wished you dead. I don't. I can't."_  
  
Buffy, how could she try to take him out, all for the mission–  
  
_"Get AWAY from me!"  
  
"I don't need you doing this… Not here. Not like this."_  
  
The look, the sneer on Cordelia's face after his vision. The malice in Spike's eyes, his defensive posture. Faith, the pity rolling off her in waves. Wesley, faux concern but not caring anymore. Buffy, her voice firm, her patience wearing thin.  
  
The contempt for him, the distrust, the eye rolling.  
  
Mounting rising, he kept at it, again and again.  
  
God, he didn't mean anything anymore.  
  
_You don't. You're worthless,_ he could hear someone saying, but he wasn't sure who.  
  
_"I needed someone. Someone to be THERE for me."_  
  
The sickening crack of his jaw being broken, the oily smell of gasoline pouring, the flames rising.  
  
Over and over. Again and again.  
  
Flames, flames everywhere. Twisting metal, digging wounds.  
  
The thrusting of Spike, and his paramour, Buffy.  
  
_"I don't even know what you are anymore."_  
  
And as his strokes were growing faster, moving deeper; deeper, and frantic, he could feel that edge of reason sink into him like a knife. She was here, laughing, grinning at him. Taking this like a fresh breath of air, taunting him. Torturing him. It was her fault, damn it, all on her.  
  
All Buffy did was keep on laughing.  
  
At him.  
  
_Her fault._  
  
She was the cause of all this. It was she who caused him to stay with her.  
  
Laughing! She kept on laughing!  
  
_She means nothing to you anymore. She doesn't like you_, came that voice, his conscience maybe… again.  
  
So that was when his fingers furiously clenched on the pillow next to her, moving, arm bending, going down- The pillow went rather easily onto her mouth, pushing, sinking– A breathy growl passing twisted lips-  
  
_Stop her. Look at what she's done to you. What she made you become._  
  
Her breathing faltered the short burst of genuine giggles turning into muffled yelling.  
  
"Shut up! Shut up!"  
  
_Do you think she loves you?_  
  
Shouting at her, eyes wild and furious.  
  
Arms, sliding about the air like snakes, shooting up. Angel's fist clenched the pillowcase firmly, pushing down, his jaw set. Smothering her, bliss. Trying to deflect him, not working, again, no avail.  
  
_Loves you enough to do all this?_  
  
It was so hard to remember. Fuzzy, flashes, sinking, crash, flames, cool, steel, feathers, sky, flying, diving, down, down, just DOWN…  
  
The last caress, arms sinking down.  
  
Slow, slow.  
  
Slinky, smooth, arc waving…  
  
Down, down the rabbit hole.  
  
Fussing stopped.  
  
As the cacophony of harsh words and images rose in Angel's mind, blinding and painful, the pillow moved by his trembling touch.  
  
It moved, he could see her jawline, her cheek and–  
  
That little sunspot, so familiar in these past few days.  
  
His back arched, her breath failed, and all he could hear was the steady, slow beating of one heart.  
  
*  
  
**The Present**  
  
The shaft of light angled up from the hardwood door's crack, snaking across the posh carpeted floor, done in ancient Persian designs. It slowly bent upward, gleaming over rusted manacles clamped on jean covered ankles. Black jeans, boots. Up and up again, the careless black blazer thrown over a white undershirt, sleeveless. Bruised, the chest was slouched, wounds and blood seeping through. Angled more, and you could see the highlighted trace of scarred features, only a quarter of it. Exactly diagonal, missing the muffled, longish dark hair. Not too long, not to the shoulders. Midway and… messy enough. Unkempt, reflecting the man, slouched in his leather chair.  
  
Chains and shackles on his wrists and ankles.  
  
He then leaned forward, rapt, his words coming low and eloquently. He described it all, and at this juncture his words lingered. Slowing, reflecting.  
  
"…And that's what happened to me," Angel finished, almost thoughtful.  
  
The recipient of his testimony, the young woman could only steeple her fingers in front of her. She sat across the big expanse of her polished desk, dark hair neatly combed and clipped. She'd been writing all the while, pencap in her mouth, when she dropped the pen, her eyes looking up.  
  
The name on her desk read 'LILAH MORGAN'.  
  
Hazy, his mind so unclear, images of silky hair and careless laughing fresh in his mind.  
  
"That… That was it?"  
  
Angel, looking far off, nodded. He might have been there physically, but his mind remained in much darker times.  
  
Lilah Morgan looked flustered briefly, but not, no, she wouldn't let it break the front, the cold exterior. "There has to be something more. Isn't there?"  
  
"I killed her," he said slowly, ignoring her question, realizing the impact of his statement.  
  
"Killed…" She waited for it, delicate fingers grasping an item from the desk. Wanting to make sure of it all.  
  
Angel could only shake his head in disbelief, trying to think clearly. "I killed Cordelia Chase."  
  
Continue on...   



	5. Chapter 13

  
**Title: **If There Never Was   
**Author: **Ignited   
**Posted: **03-11-2002   
**Rating: **R for language and sexual situations   
**Email: **Ignited   
**Content: **Romance, Drama, Angst, AU-ish   
**Summary: **One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind…   
**Spoilers: **Everything up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of speculation here.   
**Disclaimer: **The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.   
**Distribution: **Disharmony, List archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!   
**Notes: **This has been sitting in my computer since June, at least. Along with two other fanfics that I planned to write, but unfortunately have no time to put real thought into them. So, this is a combination of three different ideas. With the emergence of _Vanilla Sky_, a similar but distinctly different story, I decided to finally complete this minor story, of which has turned into a full fledged monstrosity of a fic. It's my seriously screwed up and basically nothing alike, take on _Vanilla Sky._ Open minds are required, please…   
**Dedication: **To Steffi and Kath– for always believing in me, plus generally being helpful, caring, and showing good input. And to Melissa and Christie, who are fic goddesses and great friends. This one's for you. Chapter 10 Dedication: To Greenie, 'cause I'll miss him dearly!   
**Feedback:** I am a feedback junkie, so make me high.   


* * *

**Part 13**

"You killed her."  
  
Feeling numb, in a trance almost, Angel could only nod, staring straight ahead. He leaned back in his chair, the rustle of chains heard. Cupping his chin with his palm, Angel let out a sigh. "Yep."  
  
Lilah considered this, leaning back. She twirled an object in her fingers, a capsule. A medicinal dart. It had gone into Angel hours before, support shots reapplied every so often. Truth serums worked lovely nowadays, even if they weren't on the usual supernatural route. He was human now though, so that saved them some expenses.  
  
She stood up abruptly, walking past him, ever so slow, that menacing way of hers. The two guards at the door straightened, ominous figures in the Wolfram and Hart office at night. Skyscraper lights blazed against a backdrop of black onyx and burnished metal, yet none could reach the office. Glorious and large windows were black, reflecting the surrounding buildings.  
  
He felt his head and neck move freely, head lolling like it was attached to some toddler's toy.  
  
"That just can't be it," Lilah was saying, fingers clenching in frustration. She turned, pointing the capsule at him. "Tell me about your friends. What happened to them? How are they connected? You didn't give me enough information about them."  
  
"They… weren't there at the time," Angel offered, neck rolling so he could see his boots. He looked drunk, in a daze.  
  
Biting her lip, her voice took on a much darker tone as she grabbed the lapels of his jacket unexpectedly. "What happened to them?"  
  
Angel shrugged, an almost carefree expression. "I don't know."  
  
She looked to the guards. "Did his drug wear off?"  
  
"No Ms. Morgan, it's been less than a half-hour since we gave him the last dose," supplied one guard.  
  
Fingers dropped, straightened his torn blazer, body went down a little. "It would be idiotic for me to say that Wolfram and Hart didn't mind your little escapade. Trust me, I can hear the wolves baying already. Your 'team' did screw this one up, and we're gladly looking for retribution. So, to save yourself some more personal brooding time over the deaths of your friends, fessing up would be a good thing."  
  
He said nothing, only looked at her suit instead.  
  
"Angel," Lilah prodded, a finger gently lifting his chin. "You'll be safe if you tell me. I won't let anyone lay a finger on you."  
  
His eyes locked on hers, and they were that dark brown again, but no, they hadn't really changed color at all. His eyes became cold and purposeful, loopy expression sober and focused.   
  
Soft, warm and seductively, he asked, "Do you think I'm an idiot?"  
  
Meow! She nearly hissed in dissatisfaction.  
  
Lilah clenched his chin instead, sneering. He tried reaching up to her, but the chains allowed him only a little bit of movement.  
  
Continuing, Angel wondered aloud, "If I was, how have I gotten this far? Gone through this much? It's all insane, all of it, but I did it. Damn it, I got through it. All the – the pain, and the torture. All the visions, more of them, more painful… Why? Why do they keep happening in succession? Flashes of a life I never lived…"  
  
_Never lived…_  
  
He pulled away from her turning his face to her, thinking.  
  
Three words again, not so heartfelt as his ladylove's, but still chilling.  
  
_Because something's up._   
  
"You want to play hard to get, fine. I've got all night!" Lilah said with a flourish, throwing up her hands. Turning away from him, she crossed her arms, glancing out the window. Trying to figure out how to trick him into revealing more.  
  
Silence again.  
  
"Indoctrination , Lilah."  
  
The lawyer turned to look at Angel. "What?"  
  
"Indoctrination. Brainwashing. That kinda stuff. Does Wolfram and Hart pull that stuff anymore?" Angel inquired casually, still not looking at her. Eyes trained on the floor instead, the soft glow of a sconce casting its light in his line of view.  
  
Lilah looked at him full on again, arms still crossed. She moved a strand of hair from her blow, fingers trembling for a second. Then, her arms were dangling at her sides in frustration.  
  
"Sometimes," she told him. "But only in special cases."  
  
He felt his jaw and eyelids shut tight, a brief flash of pain erupting through his being.  
  
_- "When it all comes together and makes sense, there's like a click in your brain and you understand things again." –_   
  
He could feel himself reaching for that click. Grasped the concept, but not full-on, and the pain wasn't going to stop, it's not going to stop…  
  
"Any other insightful comments?"  
  
Angel paused for a second, then responded, "I'm thinking about how I'm gonna escape from here."  
  
He could see the amusement on her face. "You can't."  
  
The loopy expression almost came back into place again, but his strong yet eased tone remained. "Oh, you know, stop a few guards maybe give them a taste of their own medicine. Run through those doors there. Break into an office maybe. I can steal some complimentary wrapped lozenges from the receptionist's desk on my way down the hall too, if I just put my mind to it."  
  
"Don't even think about it." Smug, he hated that look. The demon's anger has long since disappeared, but he felt a phantom part of it lingering.  
  
"Too late."  
  
Angel raised his hands, manacles unlocked. She stared at him in disbelief, and soon the guards came over, batons extending, stun guns warming up. The captive man quickly bent down to unlock one ankle, backhanding one guard. His fist shot out, pulling the man's arm to shock his partner with the stun gun. Staring for a second too long, the offender's stun gun was soon yanked from his hand, a sparkling array of blue zapping him before he was down for the count with his friend.  
  
Finished with the other, Angel stood up, looking at the paper clip in his hand. "Don't leave home without one."  
  
He tossed it in Lilah's direction and left her all the more alone.  
  
*  
  
Tearing down the hallway was no easy task if one had a screwed up leg. But Angel did it, bumping a few lawyers roaming the halls. He slid into an elevator just as the alarms began to blare.  
  
_Security lock down! Please be on the lookout for one young man, Angel. He is armed and dangerous. Caucasian, thirty, disfigured from car wreckage. Brown hair, brown eyes. Please report any sighting of him to your nearest security guard immediately…_   
  
Cursing under his breath, Angel waited patiently for the elevator to stop. Once it did, he ran straight ahead after the doors opened. An office, the door slamming shut behind him. Plain, reminiscent of the one Cordelia had locked him up in.  
  
Desk, cabinets, chairs, coat rack, window.  
  
Two plus two…  
  
Getting a firm grasp on the heavy wooden chair in the room, Angel took a good amount of steps back, then-  
  
CRASH!  
  
The window glass shattered, chair falling through it, both artificial and natural light of the moon filtering in. Cars blaring, people yelling, the city came to life beneath him. Not only were people yelling below, but after a glance to the door he could hear more security guards. Confirming the thought when the door suddenly opened, those eyes looked harshly to the window. Angel ran from the cover of the office furniture toward the shattered glass wall. He reached the window and dove through, the sound of gunfire in the air all around him.   
  
Slowly, falling.  
  
Sky, flying, diving, down, down…  
  
Braced himself.  
  
The ground rushed up to meet him, and–  
  
*  
  
The streets were quiet at this time of night, uncharacteristically silent for the normally rowdy neighborhood. A parking lot was now overgrown with weeds, garbage littering the cracked and upturned pavement. One short building facing the lot had graffiti labeled on its side, writing with meanings unknown within the curvy hoops and loops.  
  
Three streetlights, one busted. Phone cables were stretched, shoelaces and sneakers hanging from them. Bars on the front windows of shops, liquor, all night grocery, a bar. Sidewalks slicked with rain, beer, and other unmentionables.  
  
Tearing down the street, the midnight blue van stopped abruptly, gear shifted into park. The rumbling side door opened, a body swathed in black leather thrown out onto the pavement. The door closed swiftly, and the van started up again.  
  
Standing up, Spike gripped his forehead, looking more gaunt and restless than usual. He shook his head, trying to get his bearings. Spike turned to look at the van, then coughed excessively at the dusty smoke thrown up into the air. The tires screeched in protest, but the van zoomed down the worn street anyway.  
  
Ever the sarcastic vampire, Spike cursed briefly to himself. He stretched, chin jutting out in anger.  
  
"Where's Buffy?!" he shouted, but could only get a rustle of a tumbling newspaper scrap in response.  
  
*  
  
Angel hit the ground two stories below, landing in the relative safety of the dark bushes and mini garden surrounding the Wolfram and Hart building. He hear gunshots crack through the cold night air, bullets whizzing past him. Due to the darkness, the shooters could barely see him, thank God. Rolling once, Angel pulled up into a crouch.  
  
Determined.  
  
And seriously pissed off.  
  
Angel looked up at his attackers briefly, before he lunged up and took off in the direction of the hotel.  
  
*  
  
Walking aimlessly, for that was what he felt good at, Angel stared blankly at the sidewalk in front of him. He pulled his blazer closer to cover the obvious bloodstains on his undershirt, feeling a little chilly. His chest was hurting him terribly, more so with the added 'bonus' of the night air, almost a stabbing pain at his wounds. Angel walked down the street, head angled down, short-lived determined expression giving way to disillusionment.   
  
What was he, really? Sad? Angry? It was hard to tell. He didn't feel liked he killed someone. He knew the feeling, the blood running over his hands, the stiffness of his fingers after snapping someone's neck. He knew murder. He had rejoiced in committing it. But now, after all those years, he was human again. When he had been a teenager, the only fights and wounds he had inflicted were done for stupid reasons. Debts, drunken brawls, maybe grasping a lass too hard because she wasn't obeying him on his time and money.  
  
Now, however, he had a tortured soul, a conscience. A natural one that came with being human. He didn't feel like he had taken a life, since it just… He just didn't feel like he did. He couldn't understand it, nor wanted to. After all the things he'd gone through, he accepted his bad luck. Naturally, everything that went wrong was his own fault, so there was no doubt Cordelia's death was by his own hand.  
  
Angel had killed her.  
  
He wasn't Angelus, but he wasn't Angel. He was a terrible creature, a state in between madness and purity, ragged looks and pleading eyes.  
  
The thought made him shudder, hard to look left and right while diagonally cutting across a more or less empty street. The hotel was close in distance, Angel could tell, seeing the roof from a few blocks away.  
  
However, Angel could only think of her eyes. The trust in them. Her lips, the laughter spilling from them.  
  
He took all of that away from her.  
  
Angel hated himself for that.  
  
It was very hard to digest, but now there were other matters at hand. Yes, this was a tragic occurrence, but the shock, the full force hadn't quite hit him yet. Angel considered that the drugs they'd given him hadn't full worn off, hence the groggy feeling. That could probably be it. Because right now, the former vampire felt numb and dizzy. Going through the motions even, reaching the front door of the hotel.  
  
Angel leaned against it, pushing, but not quite opening it. Trying to feel her spectral touch, the curves of her body, the spilling rivulets of her hair on his fingers. He pressed against the door, trying to feel her again.  
  
It wasn't working.  
  
He opened the door.  
  
The hotel lobby was a mess. The banquette in the center of the lobby was ruined, scraped and stuffing ripped, dark stains evident. Normal stationary from the office were thrown about the floor, boxes overturned. The glass of the weapons cabinet was broken, weapons thrown to the ground. Glass particles crunching under his boots, Angel looked around, what seemed to be a hurricane had it this place. It had been two days, he could remember, since it all had taken place.  
  
Since her death.  
  
He paused, seeing Faith and Wesley near the office counter. Faith was righting an office chair, slowly looking to Angel. Wesley followed her gaze. The Englishman's arm sweeped across the counter. He quickly snatched up a cross, holding it in Angel's direction. A light bulb going off in his head, Wesley fumbled, dropping the cross and snatching up a crossbow instead.  
  
Pointing it at Angel's torn heart.  
  
The three said nothing, although there was much to be said.  
  
Angel's hands moved up from his pockets slowly. He felt like a suspect with a cop pointing a gun at him. Palms out, Angel shook his head for a second to get those stubborn strands of hair away from his eyes.  
  
"I know what you're thinking Wes. I didn't do it," Angel said carefully, although he wasn't sure if he believed anything of the sort.  
  
Wesley looked like he'd laugh at Angel's statement. "What? Murder Cordelia?"  
  
Sarcastic, he could afford to be.  
  
_Feeling her on him, pushing him away…  
  
Wait. Wait._  
  
"I don't think she's dead," Angel said, getting a raised eyebrow in response from Faith. He moved to the counter, hands resting on the edge for support. Gaze down, hair falling in his eyes, he shook his head somberly, trying, just trying to–  
  
_- "Get AWAY from me!" –_  
  
Remember.  
  
There was another pause, and Wesley lowered the crossbow reluctantly. He knew that it wasn't clear in Angel's situation, but for the meantime he would give him the benefit of the doubt and go along with it. Reflecting on that, Wesley's brow constricted.  
  
"How did you… Where were you?"  
  
Faith meanwhile, took a seat on the counter, cross-legged, leaning on her palm. She tried to think of what to say… but what could one say? She barely knew Cordelia, much less connect with the girl. And after all the things Angel had done for her. Saved her. Clothed her, gave her a paycheck, found her a place to live. It wasn't thrilling, but she had friends now. Her wacky little family.  
  
So, for now she was on Wesley's side, a step behind him. But if Angel pulled one wrong move, her knife would be in his stomach. Simple as that.  
  
"I got out of the Wolfram and Hart offices. They drugged me. Truth serum. Made me tell… Tell them things. Horrible things," Angel whispered, his voice almost cracking at the thought. He held his forehead, body slumping even more forward and down.  
  
The hotel doors flew open with a bang, three heads turning to see a battered Spike move toward them, idly rubbing his wrist. He looked exhausted, looking at each in turn before saying, "Buffy's gone."  
  
"Gone?" Perplexed, Wesley prodded, "What? We thought she was with you."  
  
"Does it LOOK like she's with me?" Spike gestured to the air next to him. "Guess not."  
  
Faith rolled her eyes, giving Spike a wink. "There's a bright boy."  
  
"Oh, do shut up."  
  
"Don't talk to a lady that way!"  
  
"I don't need anything more from you, Indiana Jones."  
  
"Why-"  
  
"CUT IT! God, you two drive me insane."  
  
"Like you're not already?!"  
  
The sound level rose, bickering, pointing and accusations abound. Matching the throbbing pain in his head, Angel could feel his heart pound faster, pain mounting. They kept shouting, and so much pain, and everyone was hurting, arguing. Death, and mistakes, and cheating, and sound, so much sound. Crashing onto him, over him, and they kept on…  
  
"SHUT UP!" Angel shouted, forceful, but voice wavering, a strain. "I have a son!" he yelled randomly, surprising even himself. Eyes snapping tight like a five-year-old. As if waiting for the onslaught, Angel opened his eyes slowly, turning to look at them. They were quiet, somber, surprised at this...  
  
Shutting up for his benefit, no doubt, pitying him.  
  
He didn't even know half of what he was talking about.  
  
The phone cut through the silence. Angel picked it up slowly.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Angel?"  
  
"Buffy?" Seeing the apprehensive looks, the steps Spike took toward him, Angel covered his free ear with his hand. Trying to hear her. "Where are you? I can barely hear-"  
  
"Angel. Angel, listen to me. I don't have much time. And sewers aren't exactly good places for reception," Buffy spoke quickly.  
  
"What? You're – you're in a sewer?"  
  
"We've been going places. I'd ask you about good old Wolfram and Hart, but time is not our friend. They took me away, locked me up in a sewer kinda chamber. It's locked from the outside. Double bolted, maybe a foot thick. Hence me not running free. It's underground. I think I heard one of the guards outside say we're near the waste treatment plant in El Segundo." She sounded harried, flustered as well.  
  
"All right. We'll get over there," Angel assured her, scribbling down the location on a notepad nearby. "How did you call here anyway?"  
  
"Kicked a guard and took his Motorola."  
  
"Good call."  
  
"I'm worried Angel. They said something's going down tonight. Bigger than the signing. Caught something about burning? A building?" Buffy sighed. It was awkward in general to be talking to him like this, when merely days ago they were together. Now, it was almost like post-high school, college freshman jitters again. However, that went all out the window in an emergency like this.  
  
Angel frowned, thinking of what to do next. "Don't worry. We'll get there. Just wait."  
  
"Oh… and Angel?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Hurry."  
  
Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Angel nodded mutely. "I will," he responded softly, hanging up the phone.  
  
Rapt eyes awaited him, the near feral snarl of Spike's face a few feet away. Spike moved forward again, yanking the notepad away from Angel.  
  
"El Segundo? She's there?"  
  
Relaying the information to them quickly, Angel moved to the weapons cabinet. He handed a sword to Faith, an axe to Spike. Wesley had his own gear, so he was covered.   
  
"Faith, I want you and Spike to go find Buffy. Get her back as soon as possible," Angel instructed, heading into the office as he gave the order. They were in silent agreement, leaving the lobby, then hotel. Dumbfounded, Wesley turned to where Angel had been standing, the newly decisive figure yanking books off of the shelves.  
  
"Angel, I don't think that was a good idea," Wesley began, seeing that Angel had taken his blazer off. Merely a white undershirt – he had seen Angel come from the basement sometimes, wearing one, finishing his training- with obvious blood stains. Angel was ragged, Wesley could tell, and in a worse physical state than he was. Wesley looked decent in his dark brown leather jacket and denim jeans, comfortable save for the five 'o clock shadow. But Angel…  
  
"Why not?" The former vampire looked briefly to Wesley, slamming another pile of books onto the desk.  
  
"Must I spell it out for you? Spike? Faith? Together, doesn't come up to anything… good?" Wesley seemed stung by the fact that Faith had gone along with Spike so easily.  
  
Angel could tell. He didn't show it though, leaning forward and flipping through pages. "Uh huh. Look, I just gathered that you'd be more useful getting some books to figure out about the burnings that Buffy mentioned. Plus, you can bring weapons."  
  
Wesley glanced to the cabinet, seeing that the shape of what was left wasn't very good at all.  
  
"All right then," he agreed after a beat, going to the office area entrance. Lingering, Wesley put his hand firmly on the counter edge. "Angel?"  
  
Frustrated a little, Angel kept his cool, looking up. "Yeah?"  
  
"I don't know what you did. I'm not even sure whether you killed Cordelia or not. But I will stand by you. We're both fighting the good fight, and I don't want to see you fall farther. You're a good man Angel. I trust you," Wesley said, firmly looking at Angel for a moment before leaving.  
  
Angel considered that. Then, he went back to work.  
  
*  
  
"Think. Think."  
  
Repeating the words over and over did not give Angel any form of consolation. He stepped into the broad expanse of the lobby for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. Books piled feet high were on the office desks and floor, pens, diagrams. Angel wanted to be thorough in his theories, researching two subjects. One, the burnings Buffy mentioned. And two, his life.  
  
Twisting and turning of events. A pawn in someone's game.  
  
_That could explain the flashes. Or I could just finally be going insane from the visions. Either way, it's bad._  
  
Angel needed to breathe, deeply even, concentrate. He was at a crossroads, the jumble of thoughts striking hard like comet tails… vibrant, but fading. Hands on his hips, trying, just trying. At wits end. He was hurting, legs cramped from the fall, chest bruised from the roughing up he had received by the Wolfram and Hart operatives.  
  
Chest… Bruising. Okay, facts straight. Mission. Sex. Death. His mind was fuzzy on what happened exactly between Cordelia's death and how he ended up in the offices. It could be due to the drugs, but after downing a glass of water and trying to take things slowly, Angel was still groggy from them. Aftermath of escaping perhaps, tiredness.  
  
But the fuzzy period was key. It supported his theory of brainwashing.  
  
Feeling her push him away… Yes, when he tried to smother her. No. No, after. After. Without the pillow on her face.  
  
Cordelia's face rose to him like a phoenix from ashes, but it soon became blurred by the haze over amber coals and ruddy smoke.  
  
Nodding quite knowledgeably, Angel paused for a beat.  
  
"I've got nothin'."  
  
*  
  
Faith didn't like this whole thing one bit. Sure, Spike could drag his pale white ass out of anything, but Buffy? The sewers were disgusting, and Faith didn't see the point of people keeping others hostage. She could clearly remember dragging herself to Wesley's door the night of their last mission, hearing brutal knockings later that night. She and Wesley had climbed into the fire escape briefly when they'd knocked on the door, breaking the lock. Going in. There were too many rifles to start a fight, but from their no nonsense attitude, it smelled of big bucks. The law firm.  
  
They laid low for a while, and from Spike's testimony Faith knew Spike, Buffy, and Angel had been taken away. The men were free. The blonde Slayer still in captivity. Steel doors were tricky to get out of, but with another Slayer and vampire on her side, no problem-o.  
  
The question was, getting there without slicing Spike's head off in annoyance.  
  
Sloshing through the muck, both were surprisingly quiet. Faith squeezed her fingers around the wooden stake at her side harder to avoid biting her lip, to avoid from speaking.  
  
Another beat.  
  
"Do you love him, really?" Spike looked down briefly, left arm slung across the long handled battle-axe across his shoulders.  
  
Almost incredulous, Faith replied, "I dunno. You, her?"  
  
"Sometimes she amazes me. And other times I just want to rip her little throat out. But for the most part – yeah. I think I do."  
  
"Oh."  
  
More sloshing.  
  
"I didn't want you t'find out like this, Faith. Hell, all I pictured was a pile of dust in my stead after you heard. But I see you're happy, and that's bloody well good, right?"  
  
"Spike. Let's not tell our sob stories. I hate you, and heck, I don't know whether to fuck you, or to kill you, but I'll leave Buffy to decide that. Otherwise, you're not my problem anymore. Deal?"  
  
Smirking, as usual, in admiration of her attitude and spunk.  
  
"Whatever you say, love."  
  
*  
  
Stretching in his chair, Angel ran a hand over his tired face to keep him awake. He even downed a cup of black coffee, letting the bitter taste roll over his tongue, reminiscent of stale blood, numbness. Pulling his shoulders back, Angel gave a good one-two of a swing, trying not to sag into the comfortable leather chair. Wearing into a fresh change of clothing—a simple teal v-neck shirt, black pants—he longed for the protective shower of his bathroom. However, now was not a good time to be luxuriating.  
  
He logged onto the supernatural database Buffy had found in a fit of excitement months ago.  
  
Entering BURNINGS, WOLFRAM & HART, MASSACRE, KIDNAPPINGS Angel told the search engine to locate only those matches containing all four words.  
  
_No matches found._  
  
"Damn it," Angel murmured, frustrated. He deleted KIDNAPPINGS, leaving the other two words. Enter.  
  
_3 matches found._  
  
Angel scrolled down the list. One site was about different kinds of deer. Another, a personal site loaded with pop-ups and ramblings of conspiracies in many topics. Politics, government, law (that's how Wolfram and Hart came in… an unhappy customer, perhaps?) … TV shows. Who slept with so-and-so writer, blah blah blah, bad storylines, analyzing, methods of TP-ing opposing faction's houses.  
  
Interesting, and a bit disturbing.  
  
The third one was right on target, with both the law firm, fires, and massacre appearing in the page. Clicking on it, Angel waited for it to load. A Californian newspaper's site greeted his eyes, the subject reading…  
  
'SUNNYDALE MASSACRE. 12/22/99'  
  
Brow furrowing, Angel scrolled down, trying to figure out… why he knew nothing of it.  
  
_'In a disturbing, macabre incident, twenty-six people were found dead inside the popular teenage hangout, the Bronze, early this morning. Many suffered severe neck wounds, dismemberment, lacerations, and other types of injuries too numerous to mention. The smell of corpses and blood drew one Sunnydale resident, Colin Brown, a high school student to discover the gruesome scene.  
  
'I left the place early since I had to go home to work on a paper for English. Then I remembered about a half-hour later that I had left my wallet with a friend at the Bronze. I came back, and saw all these… These weird looking people with horrible faces outside. And some girl with blonde hair, fighting them. She just kept screaming, so I got out there pretty fast. I came back early in the morning, and outside it was quiet. But inside… So many people…,' said the choked-up young man, at a loss for words to describe the carnage.  
  
Bizarrely, at the same time a sequence of burnings ripped through the small town, starting at the trendy Espresso Pump, to the line of stores and amongst some residential homes. About a dozen people were wounded, two reportedly missing.  
  
In a statement released early this morning, the Mayor wrote this off as a 'gang-related offense.' A law firm whose base is in Los Angeles, Wolfram & Hart volunteered to personally attend to each and every victim's family, helping them through this terrible loss…'_  
  
Angel was now sitting at attention in his chair, gaze scrutinizing. The article went on a bit more, showing a list of the victims.  
  
All of them. Xander, Willow, Giles, Oz. Buffy's mother. Anya, a friend of Xander's. All dead.  
  
He remembered Spike reprimanding him for mentioning the Scooby Gang, and now Angel could see why. The picture on the site showed a gurney being rolled into an ambulance, a flash of startling red hair, blood spattered mouth. Willow.  
  
Angel stared at the picture, long and true, until it got blurry, shifted, became Buffy and Willow again, the Slayer's arm wrapped around her shoulder. Both were bright and smiling, a sisterly vibe between them. The newspaper heading read 'COLLEGE KIDS HELP OUT AT LOCAL CHARITY BENEFIT'.  
  
Shifted, crashing, snapping back into place. Words once fuzzy became harsh details of a massacre, instead of the light and airy description of Buffy and her friends having a good time. Confused at this—flashes of a life he never lived, he remembered his words—Angel stood up. Backing away slowly.  
  
Why, why didn't he remember any of this?  
  
About to go over the gamut of questions in his mind, Angel figured an outside source might shed some more light on this information. He picked up a handful of books after searching through the piles for three minutes, then slipped his duster on.  
  
_I need to know what happened to my life._  
  
The vision crashed into him, sending Angel flying into the bookcase behind him. A brisk stream of cursing flew from his mouth before collapsing into a heap on the ground, unconscious.  
  
The clock kept ticking down.  


* * *

**Part 14**

Wesley was not a happy man.  
  
The thought of him doing a trivial errand, picking up books, weapons, almost infuriated him. Angel was right though, as his weapons were depleted and he didn't exactly browse for rare books these days. Wesley had a good supply of both. The thought of Buffy, perhaps dead, Faith and Spike running into a trap, Angel weak made him ever so much more concerned.  
  
Cordelia's situation had tired him. He didn't know if Angel was telling the truth or not. He committed murder, but from what Wesley had seen of those two together, he couldn't understand why. They seemed very much … Well, they seemed happy together. Hence, his justifying Angel's questioning of the death.  
  
Here he was, a demon hunter who occasionally helped them out, now fighting formidably by Angel's side. It was like Sherlock Holmes, although Wesley didn't want to bother with who was Sherlock, and who was Watson.  
  
Searching for an answer to his fleeting prayers, Wesley continued looking through musty old books.  
  
*  
  
Lilah Morgan, clad in a designer suit, smug in her strappy expensive heels, leaned forward. She sipped her martini delicately, placed it down on a coaster on her ink blotter. Sparkling and immaculate, the wood of her desk wasn't streaked, smudged, imperfect.. It had taken her a lot to get to this floor, this position, this desk, and she reveled in it.  
  
Manicured fingernails briefly touched her cell phone, when she said, "It's starting."  
  
A chain reaction set through dozens of phone lines, wires a buzz with the same instructions repeated over and over: "Start the fires."  
  
Gasoline poured, flints and matches struck, fingers pointed, mouths recited incantations.  
  
Men, women, and children screamed, twisted into puffs of clouds and ash from the blazes erupting.  
  
Lilah Morgan sent her message. People were dying.  
  
The city screamed.  
  
*  
The first thing Angel thought when he woke up was if he was dead or not. Finding out he wasn't gave him no comfort, and so he dragged himself up, clinging to the bookcase for support. Holding the frame tightly for a moment, Angel regained his bearings. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, his mind focused on the vision.  
  
Cordelia. Gunshot. Screaming. Blood. Bodybag.  
  
This was not a good thing.  
  
Feeling the inevitable sense of dread run through him, pausing, thinking. There was no sense in denying it. The vision was meant to shake him out of his funk, get him back on track. Screaming, Cordelia, blood. The knowledge that he had killed her rang through him, clearer than any bell forged on Earth. It shook him down to the very core, the method of killing her, how hard and loving she was, trusting him.  
  
Trusting him through death.  
  
Angel realized she was dead with finality. If she wasn't—lord, it'd be a longshot—she would be. Courtesy of a certain law firm.   
  
If Buffy was captured, who's to say they wouldn't kill someone he loves?  
  
*  
  
A tentacle whipped forward, connecting with Buffy's ankle and zipping back harshly. She dropped to the mushy, water soaked floor, feeling her jaw almost crack from the impact. Briefly thankful that her tongue wasn't cut off, Buffy instead chose to use it to scream for "a little bit of HELP HERE!"  
  
Spike and Faith skidded, the other Slayer falling into a crouch to steady her balance. She was covered with little scratches and cuts, a wound on her forehead, tanktop with fast-paced city images ruined by slime. A second passed and Faith had lunged, jumping onto the ugly maw of the huge, squid-like demon that had Buffy in its grip.  
  
"No time for dilly dallying!" Spike said, and it was almost weird to see how lighthearted he regarded this situation. Here he was, a vampire, rushing towards his paramour, a Slayer, while his ex tried hacking away at a giant Calamari that was much too big for a sewer tunnel, but managed to squish along fine.  
  
Faith shouted something along the lines of "Fuck you, Spike!" but it was hard to decipher since she was clinging to the squid for dear life, feeling it thrash under her. Coming to her aid, he lunged forward with his axe, feeling the blade hit home. The thing screamed, letting go of a squirming Buffy's ankle. Buffy crawled forward, leaping up to her feet.  
  
She took in the sight of the demon's detestable form, slimy dark purple hide twitching at Spike's advances. Only in L.A. Get rescued from a dungeon-like room only to be chased by a squid right afterwards.  
  
With a mock battle cry, Buffy leaped.  
  
*  
  
A ring snapped the flustered Wesley out of too many thoughts. He moved over to the door carefully, picking up a small crossbow on a table.  
  
The door opened, the rugged cool face of Wesley, wearing glasses, behind it. He looked to Angel, so different from the vampire he met years before. Not handsome; disfigured features making him seem less of the ethereal personality he was. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had aged since coming to LA, a rogue demon hunter. He remembered seeing Angel again, a year after Sunnydale. Battled hardened them both, but only Wesley came out unscathed. Now here was Angel, bruised and broken, leaning against the wall near the doorway.  
  
Angel straightened, face lowering. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Of course." Wesley nodded, lowering his weapon and gesturing for him to come inside. Angel walked in, closing the door shut behind him. The apartment was stiff, cramped, like a motel room. It was messy, but not 'lived in'.  
  
Angel nodded to the door, thoughtful. "I'll never remember the lack of invitation thing."  
  
Wesley put the crossbow back. He then went about organizing the weapons and books laid out on his table. "What happened?"  
  
"Oh. Nothing… happened. It's just…" Angel trailed off, searching for the right words. "A girl."  
  
"A girl?" Wesley stopped after a few seconds. "What kind of girl?" He was worried it was another potential suitor, someone Angel had found to console him. Or a possible threat. It was best that Angel kept his problems to himself.  
  
However, those thoughts were rapid, a more logical feeling filling the void.  
  
"A really, really nice girl," Angel answered with a slight laugh. He scratched the back of his head, sitting down with a sigh. Long legs came up, knees practically touching his throat. He leaned back, adjusting the brown leather duster.  
  
_All he needs is a cowboy hat_, Wesley thought. By now he knew Angel was referring to Cordelia, the lovely woman he had known briefly. He raised an eyebrow. "Any luck with Buffy?"  
  
"You know… It really IS kinda funny," Angel said while shaking an accusing finger. He leaned forward a bit, Wesley watching Angel take a swig from the liquor container he took from his pocket.  
  
"Angel! You don't drink."  
  
"I more than likely killed the woman I loved. People might be dying and I don't know how to stop it. Buffy's in trouble. So, I thought I'd drink a little." Another long gulp, waving the container lazily.  
  
"Not to mention my girlfriend's sleeping with my best friend _who_ has more than every right to have her than I do. He's evil, a vampire… What's not to love? I'm 29, a weak and disfigured human guy annnnd…" Angel squinted. "Drunk off my ass while fighting the urge to regurgitate."  
  
Angel glanced to Wesley. "Bathroom?"  
  
"Down the hallway, to the right," Wesley muttered as Angel tore off in the indicated direction. Bathroom door closed, Wesley stood outside, hearing a few retching sounds. It continued for a minute or two, then… silence.  
  
"Do you think this 'girl' was the reason for Buffy choosing to sleep with Spike?"  
  
A beat.  
  
Angel opened the door, coming outside and closing it slowly. "Cordelia? It's not her fault. It's me," Angel pointed out. He walked back to the couch again, doing a little turn. "Look at me. The great hero for The Powers That Be. Now? A joke."  
  
Running his fingers through his hair, Angel looked about, head jerking in that nervous way he had developed. "She's so beautiful and… well, LOOK at me."  
  
"Angel, there's no need for groveling," Wesley said firmly, placing a hand on Angel's shoulder. "It'll be all right."  
  
"Wes, you're gonna have to realize one thing," Angel replied. "We're screwed."  
  
"Since when did you become so negative?"  
  
"When I got drunk."  
  
Wesley rolled his eyes, going over to the table to shove the various weapons and books into a bag. He could hear Angel mumbling behind him, something about his girlfriend. From the looks of things, Angel was clearly still hurting, not to mention drunk and confusing concepts and people.  
  
"She's alive. It wouldn't make sense for her not to be," Wesley assured Angel, more or less disbelieving himself.  
  
Thinking about that, Angel looked up after taking another sip.  
  
"Not for long."  
  
There was a minor confusion from Angel's response. Wesley referred to Cordelia, while Angel probably meant Buffy.  
  
Angel looked at him for a minute, shoulders slumped. Defeated. He nodded, eyes half closed while walking to the door slowly. "Come on, Wes."  
  
"Where are you going?" Wesley looked and sounded worried while slipping his jacket on.  
  
"To get _more_ drunk. You're buying." He smiled a little, that sad look remaining.  
  
Ah, yes. Everything was going according to the plan. Or so he thought.  
  
*  
  
Drinking on an empty stomach did not settle the already queasy feeling Angel had. Mundane thoughts arose while peering into the green glass of his Heineken bottle. Where was Cordelia's body? Why wasn't he in jail? Where there any evidence left in his room? Why wasn't there a manhunt for him, a murderer? And why the hell was he so hungry all of a sudden?  
  
Cordelia's body was taken away, Wolfram & Hart probably. Second question, see first answer. Evidence… Damn. He hadn't checked his room. Fourth, W&H again. Hungry? The lingering craving for food after a murder, because of old habits?  
  
"I still can't get through to them, even after going outside," Wesley piped up, coming over to Angel's table. He found his friend's shoulders hunched forward. It took him a moment, before he sat down, to see whether Angel was awake or not.  
  
"Cell phone not workin'?" Angel pointed to the small device he lent Wesley.  
  
"Not at all."  
  
Looking thoughtful, Angel leaned back. "Well, they are in the sewers."  
  
"That hasn't stopped you from calling back," Wesley pointed out. "I can't get Buffy's beeper or Faith's."  
  
"Then we're out of luck, aren't we?" More staring, scooping up the bottle and taking a long drink.  
  
A slow burn ran through Wesley, wondering how Faith was. He directed his building anger towards Angel, who seemed content just sitting there and drowning his sorrows. "Do you think drinking will fix your problems? It won't. The only thing that can fix them is you, Angel. You're just going to have to accept that."  
  
_Buffy…  
  
She had laughed at him. Why should he save her? Don't bother,_ a voice screamed. _You killed the one you loved! You weren't worth anything before, nor now! Why did you take her life? Why, why?!_  
  
Silence followed, and after a moment, Angel replied, "What if I don't want to fix them?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What if I don't know HOW to fix them? Wesley, this isn't normal. THIS isn't normal. I'm not supposed to be here. Not even helping them instead. All of this… It just feels so out of–"  
  
The front door burst open, "–place! Outside the place I tell ya! Some guys tried to jump me an' steal my wallet, but this girl came and chased 'em off, man," said one energetic bar patron, walking in with another man. A bit too loud, he waved tot he bartender. "Hey! You have to call the police! The girl's still outside, and she might get hurt."  
  
"Why didn't you stay with her outside?" asked the other man.  
  
"Shit, I'm not getting hurt over a wallet. Dark hair, these like…dark green eyes tho'… that girl was kickin'."  
  
Chin slipping off the heel of his palm, Angel bowed his head for a second before snapping it up. He almost nodded off, thankful for the man's outburst. A deterrence from Wesley laying down the bottom line. Angel didn't need to be reminded of that. Angel needed to get really drunk. He couldn't cry– why, when he'd felt much more broken when Buffy slept with Spike–couldn't do anything right, much less get drunk properly, or mourn. He was stalling. Thinking. Getting queasy.  
  
It was weird for him, to revisit the despair of the twenties and thirties, the decades he drowned his sorrows away in the bottom of a glass.  
  
However, when the man said that brief description of physical features, Angel did a double take, glancing hard at Wesley.  
  
Cutting off Wesley before he could say anything, Angel stood up abruptly, weaving slightly. "Stay. I'm going outside."  
  
"Good Lord, you are not," Wesley snapped, standing to look Angel eye to eye. "You're weak, and not even bloody sober. Don't think you can just go out there with fisticuffs."  
  
Glares, dark and twisting features, five 'o clock shadows and pained memories were shared.  
  
Wesley was right, although no matter how long Angel knew him, he was still the embodiment of 'uncool', as Faith might say.  
  
"Fine. Then we'll split up. Is that good for you?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
*  
  
There was a cool breeze that threw up dust clouds and discarded paper that night. The bar they'd gone to, Angel remembered faintly, had been a ways out, but at least they had some nice beer that reminded him of the good Irish taverns back home.  
  
Back home. Where was home, now?  
  
Situated in the bad part of town, a town where corrupt was a concept put heavily into play, yet only the saccharine, blinding Hollywood imagery made you think the opposite. He wasn't too far off from the saline plant where Buffy saved him from the Mohra demon. There were many abandoned buildings in this neighborhood, walls streaked with spray paint and odd symbols. Boom boxes blared in the far off distance, cars, if they weren't stripped, were under heavy lock and key.  
  
Wesley had gone north. Or was it east? He couldn't smell the sun anymore.  
  
It scared Angel, in so many odd ways, that he preferred being a vampire, than being a human. His mind was so jaded, so tumbled and confused that he'd take anything, a tortured soul, heck, even Spike's whining over this–  
  
Something moved in the shadows, a silhouette. Something sleek and swift. There was another movement, sensual and predatory; a hunting animal.  
  
Jerking his head to the right, Angel looked to the abandoned warehouse there. There was a blue, gray tint to everything, dark and murky. An orange haze glimmered above in the far off distance, sirens blaring. He had less than perfect vision, not like before, but he knew he saw something. Venturing into the abyss of shadows and disrupted garbage, Angel entered the warehouse.  
  
Light poured in through cracks in the fixture, streaky and dirty glass windows. Boards and two by fours were thrown and out of place. Stepping over the garbage and disrupted furniture, Angel peered past a spider's web hidden in a corner.  
  
Longing for a weapon, anything, he settled for his own two fists if need be.  
  
He heard a crash of broken glass and aimed his dark eyes into the shadows.  
  
"…I know you're there," Angel said, echoing words of another night so many years ago, when Buffy intended to kill him, mistakenly thinking he hurt her mother.  
  
Angel continued his hunt, moving in the dark stillness.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you. Just calm down. And we'll talk."  
  
Silence, the horrible, deafening sound of it.  
  
In a voice that seemed to come everywhere at once, a response called, "What makes you think I'd believe you?"  
  
He knew that voice. Angel's heart lurched from the pain of hearing it again. Carefully shifting his position, the young man turned. Then Angel's eyes widened as she stepped forward, very close.  
  
It was her. All of her.  


* * *

**Part 15**

Tired, wet, and cranky, Buffy pulled herself up and out of the sewer exit located in the hotel's basement. She could smell fish, and guts, maybe guts of the fish, or non-fish guts. Either way, it was… bad.  
  
A hand shot up, 'Carrie'-like, but it was only Faith covered in similar reddish goo. Buffy latched her own strong arm on Faith's giving her support and pulling her out. Stumbling a step or two, holding each other. Staring, unsure of what to say. It was odd now. To compare Buffy to a sister was irresistible. She was her surrogate sibling, with the same interests, tastes in clothing, some in music. Fighting. They got that.  
  
And yet, was this the same person, Faith thought, who lied to her all this time, about Spike? Surely not.  
  
Angel hadn't known either.  
  
_He must feel more worse than I do._  
  
Faith pushed Buffy's grasp away, stepping aside but not looking up. "Thanks, B."  
  
"Oh, so you give her a lift but you'd leave me down here in the cold," the obvious voice called after them.  
  
Innocently looking down, Buffy shrugged, then pulled Spike up. "You're not alive," she drawled.  
  
"Still, s'not nice to leave a vamp out in the cold. Could get a bit perky, you know."  
  
Receiving similar eye rolls from both girls, Spike shrugged. Buffy then suggested they go upstairs, figure out things. Not rush. No. Rushing into things was… It was never good…  
  
Moving to her bedroom, she stretched, hearing a crack or two. Neither Angel, nor Wesley was downstairs, so more than likely they went out searching for them. She'd have Faith call them once she changed her clothes. Slipping into a nice clean shirt and pants sounded luxurious and inviting. After being cooped up and chained for God knows how many hours… Ripped from her place with her friends… Buffy would love a shower too.  
  
Something told her it could wait, and when she opened her door, she knew why.  
  
The room was an utter mess.  
  
Chairs overturned, the stuffing in her mattress ripped, sheets flung about, windows open. Books ripped to shreds, heels broken, hangers littered the floor. Gingerly stepping over the clutter, Buffy made her way to her dresser, opening it. Her personal things, papers, under garments, make up and such had been rifled through, the whole experience giving her a dirty feeling.  
  
_They took away my privacy.  
  
I hate that._  
  
Buffy, tired as she was, pulled out a shirt and a pair of pants from the closet, intent on solving these burnings, no matter how sleepy she became.  
  
*  
  
Cordelia Chase, an apparition, flesh and blood, faint memory of better times, woman, female, weighed her options. She was beautiful in his eyes, her color choices of clothing accentuating the piercing eyes, dark brown hair cascading down in waves. Face cold, hands trembling, she held an object in her hand.  
  
A sharp stick, the size of a pool stick, only thicker.  
  
Oh, how long, how long had it been since she bumped into the Slayer at that store? So many weeks, months, decades, it felt. Brandishing the stolen weapon in shaky fists, Cordelia stared hard at him.  
  
Open mouthed, staring, just…taking her in. Her scent, her smell, the beating heart he could imagine. Angel was not close enough to be able to tell, but he longed to wrap his arms around her midriff to find out.  
  
"Cordelia. You're… You're alive."  
  
The icing on the cake.  
  
Chase, for that was what they called her back home, and who she really was, took one dainty step forward, head angled, feet firmly on the ground, and proceeded to slap Angel across the face.  
  
"You bastard."  
  
Angel reeled, the painful memory of Buffy smacking him coming to mind. It was not only the force of the blow, but the anger in her eyes when she did it, the pain, twisting like a knife wound in the gut, digging at her. At him.  
  
Straightening, he almost growled.  
  
Cordelia, like this man, did not know what to do either.  
  
She could dodge right, deliver a stab to his side, maybe duck and roll to the door. Or left, same thing. And then there was the option of not doing anything, just standing and listening to his '7th Heaven' lecture. Blah blah, so-and-so is wrong.  
  
Angel flexed his fingers, wondering what the hell he was going to do, to stop her. It would be hard to run after her, because of his leg, so…taking her down right here sounded the best. He didn't want to take her down though. Maybe they could talk it through. Other than that, he'd have to get one of the others in there. Buffy or Faith, whoever was closer—No. They were not there. He was a one-man army, Angel convinced himself, and ready enough to take charge.  
  
Cordelia flinched right, jerking her body one step. Angel followed her action, moving to his left but unable to stop himself. She lunged forward, stabbing with the long wooden stick, hitting his left leg, the stiff one.  
  
Angel stared in disbelief at the stick protruding from his leg. Then it dawned on him. Pain. Yes. Much.  
  
"AGHH! Damn it!"  
  
She seemed to realize what she had done to him, at that moment. A double take. And then–  
  
"Oh. Ohh. Oh God." Cordelia was panting, staring at him, then at his leg frantically.  
  
He immediately fell onto his back with a sigh of anger. Eyes lifting to meet her own, Angel was greeted with another burst of pain when he felt the sharp tug of the stick being pulled. It shoved against the wound in his leg, a fiery pain shooting through all limbs. Cordelia stood over him, half looking remorseful, but the steely resolve in her eyes told Angel that he wasn't being left off the hook anytime soon.  
  
"Cordelia! Cordelia…" Angel winced, eyes widening a bit when she stepped on his thigh, right where the wound was. "…Let me – EXPLAIN!"  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked, a genuine tone of concern in her voice.  
  
"I – think so."  
  
"Good." Another twist and Angel nearly shouted. "That's for the pillow."  
  
_– "Yeah they do. And sometimes they change back. - If the day ever comes that I..."  
  
"Oh, I'll kill you dead." –_  
  
"I'm not evil!"  
  
"Typical guy. Always go for the primal response."  
  
"Cordelia–"  
  
"You tried to KILL me, Angel. You think I'd let that slip by?" Finally, after her poking, Cordelia pulled the stick free, eliciting a gasp from her counterpart. "And all this time I trusted you. For – for what? So you can leave me high and dry when the next – BLONDE comes along or something?"  
  
Getting to his feet, slowly, for the pain in his leg was intense, Angel responded, "This has nothing to do with Buffy."  
  
"Are you so sure? 'Cause I don't know anymore, really. It's hard to trust someone who tried to smother you," Cordelia said clearly, throwing the stick down at his feet. Disgusted, humiliated, rejected, she turned and started to walk away, navigating through the warehouse.  
  
"We have to talk about this," Angel called after her. Taking a few steps forward, eyes raised in hope.  
  
Cordelia continued on for a while, not responding.  
  
He waited. Started to pace, ignoring the pain, black duster flapping behind him  
  
In three, two–  
  
"About what?"  
  
She was so damn predictable.  
  
Ceasing his pacing, Angel pointed to himself, then to her slowly. "This?"  
  
Considering that for a moment, Cordelia closed her eyes. The moment she opened them, they glowed with a wild ferocity he had never seen before.  
  
"This? This is NOTHING. There's no 'us'. I don't know you, you don't know me, and I prefer to keep it that way," Cordelia bit off, crossing her arms when she turned to face him.  
  
"But we… Cordelia, you can't just–"  
  
"Oh yes I can."  
  
"Damn it Cord!" Angel hit the rickety wall nearby, sending chunks of plaster and dust down, bracing himself against it. "I can't stop thinking about you."  
  
"Well, learn how to. I'm not staying any longer," she replied curtly, checking and zipping her ankle high boots.  
  
"Cordelia, please… I didn't mean what I did before!"  
  
"I don't care. I'm not staying here with some… some _jerk_ like YOU!"  
  
Angel opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by Cordelia pointing a finger in his face, after a little stroll in his direction.  
  
"And you're lucky I'm reserving the bad words for some other _jerk_!"  
  
"Well…"  
  
"Well what?!"  
  
He faltered, trying to think of an insult. "Your ass looks weird in those… pants!"  
  
"Uhh!" Eyes widening, nostrils flaring, Cordelia kicked him in the shin. "YOU'RE LUCKY THAT'S YOUR *GOOD* LEG!"  
  
"Oww!"  
  
"You're nothing but a _psychotic_ idiot who takes out dream induced actions on poor …. Poor IDIOTS!"  
  
"I told you that I didn't mean– What happened was that in my dream, I–"  
  
"– in your dream, in your dream. I'm tired of that! I still have marks from you choking me," Cordelia growled, stomping towards the shaky doorframe of the gaunt warehouse.  
  
Angel stared after her, unsure of how to make it all better.  
  
She slammed the door shut behind her, ignoring when it fell off its old hinges, Angel opening it a few seconds afterwards.  
  
Her thin, yet curvy form moved down the street quickly. Angel watched her leave, blurry, shifting. Another room, a hallway, and she walked away, her hair shorter and blonder. Fuzzy, faceted, shifting again to the present, fragmented. An arm waved, disdainful.  
  
"And you know what we did the other night? I WAS FAKING!"  
  
He hesitated, then snapped back, "YOU WERE NOT!"  
  
Another slam. Such is life.  
  
*  
  
Faith eased into Angel's chair, feeling unsettled. Angel used this computer for research, so did Buffy. She wasn't used to this technical stuff though. On the field, they'd say, that's where Faith was most often. She sat comfortably in the chair, and planned to click on the Internet Explorer icon, just because… well, of the label, did not give her comfort.  
  
Angel and Wesley still had not returned. Now, Faith was getting worried.  
  
But Buffy assured her that everything would be fine. In the meantime, Faith was instructed to research the burnings that Buffy heard of, on the Internet. When Faith protested this notion, Buffy merely replied that it would give her something to do instead of punch holes through walls, and the like.  
  
Waiting, endlessly waiting. It was enough to drive a girl crazy.  
  
More than the usual, that is.  
  
Faith stopped moving the mouse boredly. She noticed that after she turned the monitor on, the screen flickered and showed her windows. Someone must have left it on, and perhaps the monitor automatically turned off after a while. Sometimes, when they were alone, which was rare, Angel would tell her these things. He'd tell her "so you can understand some of the… new stuff."  
  
"Hey B! Check it out!"  
  
Scrolling, Faith came upon the newspaper site Angel had visited hours before. Buffy came up behind her, scrubbed clean and free of goop. Faith was a bit jealous of Buffy's cleanliness, but settling for just a towel and a leer from Spike wasn't the same as changing clothing and full toweling.  
  
"What is it?" Buffy asked, then looked to the screen. Her jaw clenched and she pulled away, taking a brief glance at the picture and headline.  
  
Faith turned, looking up at her, then at the screen again. "Why was Angel lookin' at this old stuff?"  
  
"Old memories?" Buffy replied in a curt tone, looking around. "Where's Spike?"  
  
"He went out."  
  
"Out? As in to the 'grocery-store-for-some-milk-and-cookies' out, or 'going-to-go-kill-or-rescue-someone' out?"  
  
Faith shrugged, a brief look of thought on her face. "Maybe both. He _was_ hungry."  
  
Buffy frowned, looking at the monitor once more. "I don't get this. Why is he digging up the past?"  
  
"From what I've gathered they're may be a logical reason for that," came a voice from the lobby. Faith turned, while Buffy took a short dash to the office entryway, seeing Wesley set foot into the hotel quickly. "Don't put all the books away yet. We'll need them."  
  
Gesturing to the piles of books still littering the office, Wesley searched the covers once he came near, picking up two, three of them. Receiving questioning looks from Buffy and Faith, he explained, "Angel's still out. We heard some noise at a bar. Went to check it out, and he's still looking."  
  
"You left him alone," Buffy said, arms crossing. "You know how he is, Wesley. We can't even do that anymore."  
  
"He won't listen to me," Wesley responded. "He kept going on about how everything's wrong."  
  
Faith looked up from scrolling the page, turning to Wesley once more. "Whoa. Backtrack and explain."  
  
"This is just a theory, but I think there may be more to Angel's hypothesis. At least, there could be." Wesley took his jacket off, searching, turning pages. "You see, all of these events occurring in sequence may tie into a larger plan."  
  
"Cue the big 'duh' there," Buffy answered. "And this leads to…?"  
  
"When he was at my apartment he mumbled something or other dealing with indoctrination. Then he went on afterwards about he's 'not supposed to be here'."  
  
"First off, what the hell is indoctrination, and second, are you telling me that this ain't real?" Faith asked.  
  
"Indoctrination is another term for brainwashing. Wiping the memory's slate clean. It may have happened to him, hence his erratic behavior."  
  
"Like say, killing chicks for instance?"  
  
Buffy stiffened at this, jaw set. "I don't think he killed her."  
  
"Neither do I," Wesley cut in. "But we'll have to be sure. It could be a medication, side effect. Drugs, even."  
  
Faith, eyes wild with anticipation and a hunger for knowledge, canted her head. "He did seem a little funny when he came here earlier."  
  
Walking to the counter, Wesley looked for a pen. He heard the sirens wail outside, remembering the stark contrast of red flashes against blue shadows when he walked.  
  
"There's something going on. With the so- called fires, the murder, and the way Angel has been acting, in another situation this shows signs of Angelus. But since he's not a vampire anymore, that concept is out."  
  
The weapons cabinet opened with the sound of metal clanking against wood. "I'm not staying in here while people are dying just to hear your 'hypothesis', Wes, but I need to find Spike. And Angel."  
  
"Buffy, it's too dangerous for you to go out."  
  
"So you're saying I should just leave Spike and Angel out there alone?"  
  
They continued on for a few moments. Buffy, the fast-paced girl who had that sassy code of honor, and Wesley, reliable, strict, and able to dish it out with the best of them. Faith eased away, moving from the office into the lobby. She hated this. She'd come all this way, escaped all the pain and torment. She was happy now. But to see everyone falling apart, arguing, pain and madness and fallen glory—  
  
BZZZT!  
  
"What the–?!"  
  
Faith cursed, yet her lips remained invisible. The lights darkened to black, and she could not see anything, only hearing the similar surprised comments from Buffy and Wesley, who in turn, stopped arguing. After a moment or two, a light flared up, and she could see that Wesley held a lighter in his hand, taken from his pocket.  
  
"What's going on?" Not afraid, because after all, this was Faith, and she wasn't supposed to be afraid. She settled for moving to Wesley, while Buffy looked around, squinting.  
  
"The power went out," Wesley replied, a general 'duh' tone.  
  
"The hotel is old, but I'm surprised the fuses just blew like that," Buffy added. She started to go to the office, but stopped in her tracks, looking to the front door. "Oh…"  
  
Her eyes gleamed with the beautiful ferocity of fire, the city skies burning. There were police cars, fire engines, cars, and people, all in chaos. It looked like the Bull Run in Madrid. People screamed, and she could see trashcans turned over, carts left behind.  
  
Wesley came up behind her, followed by Faith. The three stood by the door, watching, listening.  
  
"I'm going," Buffy affirmed, images of horror and painful memories still fresh in her consciousness.  
  
They didn't argue with her.  
  
*  
  
**Days before…**  
  
"Cordelia… I don't deserve you."  
  
Straightening, Angel's eyes squinted to fight off the glare of the mirror. He stared for a second, before fixing his hair. He parted it, became frustrated and messed it up. Forgetting how aggravating long hair had been originally. Back then, it had looked good. Now it was just annoying.  
  
Hair covering eyes tactic. No good. Face still there. Shame, loathing, torture there.  
  
As far as Angel was concerned, he had lost every single thread of sanity. Except for one, and that was Cordelia, and so he stood there, mundane things, trembling wrists, black and blues, and red hands.  
  
Hands that had grabbed that lovely neck, tightening his hold on her, pushing down the pillow to cut off her air supply.  
  
Fingers gripped the edge, body shaken, worsened by these blows. He could stare, for all eternity until his uneventful death, and still see that horrible reflection, mind no longer 'good'… no, because all these images in his head were wrong. That wasn't supposed to happen. He lived a double life, spooked, freaked out by the other.  
  
Because it was so… so _right_ in comparison to this.  
  
There was a baby, Angel remembered. A beautiful baby swaddled in blue cloth, a boy. Feeling connected to this child—blood, mind, whatever the case may be—Angel wanted to know for himself. Was this chain of events his own doing? Someone else's? Would he ever see his son again?  
  
He didn't know. Damn it, he didn't know.  
  
Angel could hear heavy gasping, a thunk of a body falling to the floor. Getting up, moving, moving to the door, hurrying downstairs.  
  
And then, just when the wave of sadness and remorse, the pure depression he knew in his century of solitude, overtook and made his knees buckle, a scream.  
  
A pure and raw, heavenly scream.  
  
"ANGEL!"  
  
Ohh…  
  
_- She kicked his side, frowning. He coughed, wincing when she kicked his stomach another time. Cordelia bent down slightly at her waist, brushing the long, wavy dark brown tresses away with both hands.  
  
Glaring at him, the girl sneered, a look of pure loathing.  
  
"God, you're disgusting."  
  
Another painful kick, and she stood up straight once more. "Look at you. Big, bad 'Scourge of Europe'. Now what? One ugly bastard that's the Slayer's whipping boy. Not to mention, somehow manages to get his ass kicked by girls all the time, with one arm tied behind their backs."  
  
"Cordelia,," Angel breathed, her name on his tongue, feeling strange in his mouth. He looked up at her, now seeing himself.  
  
It was him, but different. More muscular and pale. Hair fashioned in short, dark brown spikes, wearing black clothing. He looked like he did years before, but more stronger, a bit heavier.  
  
When he was an exceptionally tortured, but strong vampire. Not the pathetic human being he was now.  
  
He was in vamp face. "This isn't you."  
  
"Then who am I?" Angel asked, rolling onto his side.  
  
"The champion. You need the muscle, brains, spirit, and heart. Your heart's gone. Take her back."  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
"She's not even close." –_  
  
CRASH!  
  
The mirror glass shattered, a chair thrown against it. A dark fist flew up out of nowhere and caught Angel's left temple. He buckled and fell to the floor.  
  
Pulling his hand away from his cheek, Angel felt a searing cut bleed over old scars. His head snapped up to view the perpetrator.  
  
Then, another blow and the world fell to black.  
  
*  
  
**The Present**  
  
Although Cordelia had left him, Angel was determined to follow her. He remembered the situation now. How he attempted to choke her, smother her. She retaliated, punching him, throwing him off. There was no yelling; he escaped to the bathroom while she rested in a crouched position on the corner of his bed, staring wildly.  
  
It was all starting to make sense now.  
  
Angel attempted to kill Cordelia, he knew. And she escaped. She left while he was in the bathroom. That scream was of her capture perpetrated by Wolfram and Hart. He remembered being knocked out, waking up in their offices. Drugged. So he couldn't remember anything.  
  
It still didn't explain all those flashes of memories he was having. The other life.  
  
He'd follow Cordelia, and she would help him.  
  
Calling out her name, Angel staggered after her, seeing her run down the empty street, alone. She ignored him completely, and it wasn't until he put his hand on her shoulder that she showed any signs of recognition.  
  
As much as pushing him away roughly could be called a sign.  
  
"Get away from me! Don't you _dare_ come near me!"  
  
"Cor–"  
  
"I mean it!"  
  
"Shh!"  
  
Pausing, a split second, Angel raised a hand. He looked around, and she followed suit. Almost speaking again, Cordelia heard it, a crash in an alley nearby, the deserted street becoming more foreboding. Turning, questioning. Another killer, another stalker, and God, why did this keep happening to–  
  
BAM!  
  
"Damn it," Angel gritted, flexing his hand. The skin on the air of his hand screamed, on fire after the blow. He had backhanded her, a bit too rough judging from the pain and the black and blue he caused on her forehead. She slumped to the ground, and he scooped her up quite easier than expected, given his human inability and discomfort.  
  
His own eyes lifted to the skies, and trailing the line of fire and blood soaked heavens, he started to make his way home.  


* * *

**Part 16**

Cold hearted as he was, Spike couldn't let Buffy down. He decided to find some information for her, those fires, and he'd found a lot more than he expected. The usual haunts, bars, bordellos, magic shops had been ransacked, looted. Screams cried out in the distance, as police cars whizzed by, sirens blaring. Random fights had broken out, demons he recognized, and many he did not. Debris and small fires littered the ground, broken glass, blood flowed.  
  
On another day Spike would have rounded up something tasty, a student perhaps, and joined in on the fun.  
  
However, now it was all for Buffy.  
  
"You there. You're a big, strapping type. Intellectual, to my eyes. Think you can explain this?" Spike asked a thin and gangly vampire, a surfer with a deep tan from his human life, and golden eyes.  
  
"The city's burning, man," he responded, shoving his fist through an electronics store window.  
  
"I can see that," Spike said calmly, hands clasped behind him as he looked at his boots. But what particularly 'caused it, then?"  
  
"Try finding someone who cares, dude!" The vampire pulled a small black and white TV from its display. He dropped it soon after, Spike's strong fist on his throat.  
  
Spike grinned, teeth sharp. "Now say it again boy, only this time more nice."  
  
"The- the lawyer firm! Who else would it be? I don't know man, but they've been talking about doin' something like this for days now," he responded, worried.  
  
"Ah. There it is." Nodding Spike released his grip. He eyed the window, then the vampire. "Take something home for your honey lest you risk her bothering."  
  
And he, the vampire, took Spike's advice to his cold, unbeating heart.  
  
*  
  
"Angel!"  
  
Exiting the office, Wesley could see Angel walk in, holding a limp body in his arms. Nodding to the piles of books and research materials on the small sofa near the staircase, Wesley moved forward immediately and scooped them up. Placing them on the counter, he glanced over to where Angel laid Cordelia out, propping up a pillow behind her.  
  
He moved over to him, standing side by side. It was mind boggling, confusing, amazing... She was there. There. Alive.  
  
He hoped she was alive.  
  
"How did she-?"  
  
"Now's not a good time, Wes. Where's Buffy?" Angel clipped, turning to Wesley, the thoughtful look replaced by a determined glare.  
  
"She went out looking for you," he responded, eyes lingering on Cordelia's sleeping form.  
  
Frowning, Angel opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the bounding steps of Faith.  
  
"Wesley! The natives are gettin' restless outside! They might want to burn down the place."  
  
"I'll be right there!" Wesley called back, touching Angel's shoulder briefly. "You sure you don't need any help?"  
  
Angel shrugged, sitting down slowly. "Not that I can think of."  
  
_Other than figuring out who I am._  
  
*  
  
Buffy felt like she was old, lately. Always tired and crampy. Perhaps it was the double dose of headaches received courtesy of Spike and Angel. Light, dark. And vice versa. As much as she'd hate to admit it, she cared for Spike. Not in the love way. No. They weren't there yet - at least, _she_ wasn't there yet. But they were close. Same with Angel. She cared for him for so long, so it only seemed right to protect him. Since he couldn 't take care of himself anymore.  
  
That didn't stop the whole ordeal from being crappy.  
  
Chaos abundant, Buffy stepped over the debris and trashed items from crack window storefronts. There was looting in this little section of Los Angeles, and the Slayer did not like it one bit.  
  
More so because it kept her from finding Spike or Angel.  
  
And she kept on lookin'.  
  
*  
  
Caressing the curve of Cordy's jaw, Angel waited. Faith and Wesley both checked the parts of the hotel, looking for fallen torches, in case someone wanted to burn the place down. They were doing a clean sweep, and meanwhile, after a hurried explanation, Angel waited for Cordelia to wake up.  
  
Her eyes fluttered open, darkened coals.  
  
One, two, three, and then she spoke: "Angel?"  
  
"Sorry about the punch. Had to get you over here to figure out things," Angel apologized, gesturing with a nod of his head to the hotel surroundings. "Cordelia, I think I have an explanation for all this."  
  
She hesitated, then proceeded to rise. Angel stopped her, eliciting a growl from her.  
  
"Let me go," Cordelia snapped, tolerance thin. Fidgeting was one of many things she excelled at. She rose again, but this time Angel held her wrists down firmly, body moving on top of her to block her further.  
  
"Don't even think about it."  
  
Pausing, considering what he said, Cordelia seethed. Jaw set, she complied, but not without smacking him across the face. He grabbed her wrist, wincing for a second before a determined glare crossed twisted features.  
  
"Uh-uh uh. Cordelia listen to me, all right?"  
  
"I don't have to listen, Angel. You're not-" She stopped, cut off by the sound of breaking glass. Wind whipped through the gaunt hallways of the hotel, carrying flames thrown in by a torch. A hazy light glowed from the top of the staircase, Angel could see, could hear Faith yelling.  
  
FWOOSH!  
  
Angel pulled her to a standing position, eyes darting about. She drew close to him momentarily, then as if realizing her move, Cordelia stepped away. A cracking noise echoed, and the sound of Wesley and Faith shouting in the distance was followed by the crackling noise of flames tearing through the hotel. Soon they would reach the lobby, and with all the chaos outside, Angel didn't know if they'd make it out safely.  
  
"Torches... They got in. Wolfram and-"  
  
Another large sound, explosion... practically a mini earthquake ripped through the hotel. This time Cordelia did lunge towards him and cling for dear life.  
  
_- She held on to him as the subway rumbled by. He explained the reason for the vibrations, and she relented... -_  
  
Frowning, Angel held her at arm's length. "We've got to get out of here."  
  
"Yeah, we-" Cordelia hesitated. She wasn't sure leaving was a good idea. Leaving, mind you, with the same person who days before proclaimed his love, only to try and smother her. But now was not the time to go over things, and as another burst of flames attacked the hotel, she pulled away, dashing over to the door.  
  
Black vehicles were lined up outside on the block across. Jeeps, lots of trucks. Practically fifty cops, L.A's SWAT teams and for Pete's sake, the National Guard was most likely there. However, they were all wearing dark clothing, ski masks if available.  
  
And they all worked for Wolfram and Hart.  
  
Lunging forward, Angel grabbed Cordelia by the elbows and pulled her away from the door. Shock registered on her face when she took note of the heavy security outside. It did not deter her from smacking him away, but Angel would have none of that.  
  
"We REALLY need to get out of here," Angel shouted, the burning fire ripping throughout the hotel making it hard to speak without choking on the smoke that flared up. It had reached the lobby by now, and Angel could hear more glass being broken in the establishment. Wildfire, it consumed everything in its path, the piles of books near the office, the counter, and the couch-  
  
Giving him the benefit of the doubt, Cordelia nodded, putting a wrist to her mouth. "What about Wesley and Faith?"  
  
Latching a hand onto her arm, Angel guided her to the direction of the basement. "They'll be fine! Let's try to head out through the sewers."  
  
And as the plaster, marble, metal, wood came down, the two with clasped hands made their way out.  
  
Into the hands of darkness.  
  
*  
  
Burning in flames, the legendary Hyperion Hotel cast a huge funnel of smoke into the night sky. All because of a few little fires, torches, bottles thrown at the windows. To think that these elite teams with their high-tech gadgets and extensive authorization could do such a thing with simple materials.  
  
It was ludicrous, but effective.  
  
Wesley's hand clamped onto her forearm, Faith coughed into the scrap of a handkerchief Wesley had found in his pocket. He pulled her along, and she complied, unable to see too clearly. He shouting something then, and her arm was tugged as he pulled her out of the way of some falling plaster. Bodies crouched, they made their way to the back door, Wesley kicking the already burned wood down.  
  
"Faith! Watch out!"  
  
She pulled away from him and spun into a kick, connecting with the midsection of a man with dark clothing. Her arm shot out, hitting another man's neck. She was blind by fire and adrenaline, hitting those who got in her way. Shouting, punching, and Wesley tugged at her shoulder.  
  
Her eyes opened for the first time since she left the hotel. Faith didn't look at the unconscious bodies on the ground, just following a somber Wesley instead.  
  
*  
  
Buffy couldn't stand roaming the streets alone. She was tired, shirt ripped and torn, a gash on her forehead. It had been productive though-five vampires staked so far, more to go. And yet, as she wiped the scrap of wood on her shirt, from which she dug out from a dumpster after falling into it, she could not feel more like a failure.  
  
Angel. Buffy tried calling out to him, but the running people, families, cars mowing past her, choked her, lungs begging for air. And she could breathe, but they screamed with a ferocity that was unimaginable and yet real at the same time. She shielded her eyes, sparks flying off the edge of a vehicle as it careened and screeched past a bus bench and then bounced off the pavement harmlessly, tearing down the street.  
  
Still no Angel.  
  
Or Spike.  
  
"Back to square one," Buffy murmured, putting a hand to rub the tension growing in the muscles of the back of her neck. She turned her head this way and that, too quick to jump out of the way-  
  
The storefront glass shattered in front of her, a television set thrown and crashing to the pavement. Buffy lurched back, falling painfully on one knee, then to the ground, glass digging cuts all over the place.  
  
"You silly bint! Why you-"  
  
Voice cut short by realization, the Slayer could hear the familiar accent, could feel cold fingers wrapping around her wrist. The flutter of a leather trench coat, and Spike was there, lifting her gently. Eyes opening slowly, Buffy could see a female vampire run off at this opportunity. She tried to tell Spike to take off after the vamp, but instead Spike only shook his head firmly, helping her up.  
  
"What were you doing?" Angry, resentful, was he?  
  
"Looking for you. And Angel."  
  
"Angel can take care of himself. You don't need to worry about him," Spike replied, sarcastic to a fault.  
  
But as the fires raged, for the third time in as many days, Buffy was unsure of what to do.  
  
*  
  
Falling into the sewer, Angel crouched, water splashing around him. He straightened, hearing something creak, the sign of tiredness and age. It was all too brief though, for he stood and turned to the ladder. The sewers were not as ominous as he remembered them. They seemed, in a morbid sense, to be familiar and. normal.   
  
"Are you sure about this?"  
  
Angel waved a hand, gesturing towards himself. "Come on."  
  
Patient, he waited as Cordelia climbed down carefully, nearly missing the bottom rung of the ladder and slipping. However, he pulled up close to it, hands firm around her small waist as he lifted her down to the ground. Water splashed from their movements, the sounds of sewage and skittering making Cordelia scrunch her nose in disgust.  
  
"For the record, to sum up this place in one word? Eww," Cordelia said, frowning.  
  
Glancing over at him, Cordelia could see Angel's brow furrow in concentration as he decided where to go. Left, right. That was pretty much it. Or up into the already burning building. A pang of sadness filled her, Angel's home and possessions gone up in smoke.  
  
Wolfram and Hart knew revenge well. They had tried kidnapping her, to no avail, as she escaped. They wanted him to think he killed her, to give up. And go insane. What would they keep him for? Those prophecies, fortunes of his major role in the end of days were a load of horse manure. How could Angel, a human, a not-so-strong one at that, conquer those that waited for him in the darkness?  
  
He chose right.  
  
"This way," Angel instructed, heading down the tunnel. He paused after a few seconds, then reached towards Cordelia with an outstretched hand, trying to push some hope and love into his gesture. It didn't fall short, as he expected, for Cordelia took his hand in her own, and they continued onward. Sometimes walking, mostly running. The steady drip of murky water, liquid splashing and falling upon their short-lived arrivals, footsteps, caused Cordelia to speak.  
  
She told him how they'd taken her away from him, kicking and screaming, until a harsh blow send her into a short-lived moment of unconscious piece. Dreams faded from reality, waking up in a small room lined with a mirror on the wall to the right, the desk immaculate save for a folder.  
  
Instructions. Photographs.  
  
Payment.  
  
They paid her to pretend to be dead. She declined, and they settled for sending her on a trip.  
  
To be killed, she could guess. The desert wasn't too far away.  
  
The car skid, rolling over once, almost twice after it careened past a highway billboard, jumping, sliding, and rolling into a ditch.  
  
Seatbelts, Cordelia knew, were the best things in a car.  
  
All those past events, escapes didn't matter. She was here with him now, and that- with his visions, his rants, his poor self-esteem- mattered.  
  
*  
  
Lilah Morgan absolutely loved her job.  
  
The whole building was abuzz, phones ringing off the hook, e-mails, letters, visions. Every client who was interested in the situation of Los Angeles, were well in contact. Heck, the firm even arranged for vacations for those lucky and wise enough to come visit before the town was burnt to a crisp.   
  
There would be losses, she knew, but this had been said long before in the cards, before she even existed. The good would fall, the evil shall rise, and there would be no peace for all eternity.  
  
You know. Stuff like that.  
  
Angel's team and his refusal to join Wolfram and Hart left a thread hanging in the fabric of their master plans. He caused them great losses in time, money, operatives, and .trees. Yes, all the damn paper for monstrous file of information they had on him.  
  
Which, given the sudden turn of events, would have to be updated to include all these new events.  
  
Everything was arranged perfectly. The cash flow was definitely increasing, and so was the reputation. All families affected were offered help, whether they wanted any or not. They could be useful, or if not, the firm would make them to be. Call Wolfram and Hart, people said, paid, drugged, hypnotized. as long as the point would get across. More clients, more money, more designer heels.  
  
So as Lilah sipped her martini, glass held lazily, conniving eyes peering at the chaotic city below, she grinned, a Cheshire cat.  
  
Fire engines blared down below, sending a signal to cars to move out of the way. But now matter how many tons of metal and fire hose, and water drove to the scene, the fires still kept going.  
  
*  
  
The sewers stunk, the place was wet, but Cordelia pushed that out of her mind. They were silent, and soon her fingers, sticky with sweat and dirt, pulled away from his hand. In the stray light, of what little there was, her eyes lifted from the ground to look at him. Focus on his own, how he momentarily looked to her, a grim expression, eyes furtive and looking away. They approached a crossroads, tunnels going off in four directions.  
  
Angel paused, head lifting to view the soft light cast in from the grating above. He stepped into it, crouching a little more than the usual. Blinking, as if for the first time seeing such a sight, white light casting a harsh glare on his face, blanking out the imperfections, only for a moment. He was Angel again, the real one he used to be, and not this. this. whatever he was.  
  
"Cordelia."  
  
He could take her name and weave it into a song, melodic tones of passion and regret. A step, two forward, and Angel turned, duster billowing around him. They stared at each other, he in the clothes of a loner, she in the requisite dark tan tank top, tight dark gray pants that would make Buffy blush. The overall effect was lovely, and even in this angelic light, sewage around her, hair a bird's nest, she looked beautiful in his eyes.  
  
"What?" Cordelia asked, arms hanging loose by her sides, the relaxation of muscles settling in. The rush and gurgling of water followed for a moment, and then Angel stepped into the light again.  
  
She remembered how it felt to kiss his lips, to hear his hushed whispering in her ear. The shame she felt, turning away so as to not look at him in the beginning. The shouldn'ts, couldn'ts, musn'ts. And the cans, wills, wishings, wantings, declarations.  
  
Why, why did she like him so much?  
  
Angel, once a strong vampire and champion. Now reduced, _degraded_ to a messenger, human, weak, disfigured, lonely, and depressed.  
  
He had a girlfriend for. how long had it been again? Six years? So much to atone for, ripped from his mission to make weak attempts for redemption from the sidelines. Even his sired vampire, Spike, could fight better.  
  
Angel felt useless, but strong in her eyes.  
  
She gave him support, complimented him, and talked to him. Cordelia kissed those lips that told her, instructed her not to like him.  
  
There was something between them though, a connection. A strong, vibrant feeling, so strong to draw her into this dark and foreboding sewer. Cordelia wondered if that whole thing about past lives was true.  
  
If it was, has she met Angel before?  
  
Angel, Angel. It always came down to him.  
  
"Angel," she began, biting her lip to keep back to rush and tumble of emotions in her. He tried to kill her, but loved her, and oh God if her heart kept beating any faster, fear or fervor-  
  
"Cordelia. I'm sorry."  
  
He said her name again with the soft tone as before.  
  
Her eyes grew watery, mascara streaky upon looking at him. Mr. Summers, his adopted name, stood there, hands stuffed into pockets. He ran a hand through rakish hair, taking another step forward. Hand straightening his shirt, he tried being more presentable.  
  
It was eighth grade all over again, despite the turmoil raging on the surface.  
  
"Just so you know, this is me smiling," Angel began, a brief flash of white teeth before settling for that smirking, casual glare. He straightened, head bowed while she stared at him longer, now rubbing her arms.  
  
".Don't."  
  
"Don't what?"  
  
Eager, paying attention to every syllable that came from her lips.  
  
She spoke.  
  
"Don't love me anymore."  
  
Her heart collapsed.  
  
Cordelia's statement was met with a confused look that darkened, turning away from her. In a voice that could break granite, Angel began, "I know what's the cause for all this. At least, I think I do."   
  
She said nothing. He started pacing.  
  
"It sounds strange, but Lilah-they - they drugged me. Made me tell them things. Horrible things." He closed his eyes, the bitter sting of her statement eating away at him. Spending too much time on it though could cost him everything.  
  
"I've had the visions for two years. Doyle passed them onto me before he died. And they were painful, even more with. the accident. But these." At her confused expression, Angel began to elaborate, "Ever since I met you, I' m having flashes of another life. Someone I was, could have been. Or not someone at all. Maybe this proved I was going crazy, you know? And then I realized, after I told everything to Lilah, th- the lawyer who handled my situation, it didn't make sense.  
  
"It was like a nightmare that never ended. And I think that life that I'm seeing is real."  
  
Straightening, a look of pity appeared on Cordelia's face, vanishing as quickly as it arrived. "Angel-"  
  
"No. I don't want to hear it," Angel snapped, a hand raised to ward off Cordelia's outstretched hand. "I'm not crazy, all right?"  
  
She rubbed her chin for a moment, thoughtful. Until her fingers rose to cover her mouth. In a murmur, eyes half-mast, Cordelia deadpanned, "No. What would give anyone _that_ idea?"  
  
Before she even had time to finish her sarcastic remark, Angel blurted, "Then why do you stay with me?"  
  
This gave her pause, and she looked at him hard, the light filtering in through the grating on the murky ceiling. She stared at him too often, and this time. Cordelia tried her hardest to hate him. To curse at him, insult him. She wanted to hate him so badly that it scared her, made those arms stop moving to dangle at her sides again.  
  
The answer came true to her, clear as day.  
  
"How could I not?"  
  
The crunching of boots carried him over to her, and he brushed a finger against her cheek after a moment, making her flinch and turn away. He was her damnation: a love strong and powerful, sensual and equal. A man in her life would throw a wrench into things, the no nonsense feministic warrior had thought, far from the truth when she found herself falling in love with him.  
  
He wasn't good looking, nor did he have lots of money. But with a wounded heart that slammed ferociously in his chest for those he cared for, for those he hated and killed, Angel put Cordelia under his spell.  
  
She was more scared right now then she'd let on.  
  
Her anger flared up again, at Angel, his charms, his talks his. God, she wanted to hate him. But she couldn't.  
  
It was so hard.  
  
"Taking the easy route won't get you anywhere. Life's not a show. There are ups and downs. And no matter how much you punish yourself for what happened to you, Angel, it's still the past. No one can change it," Cordelia said gently, touching the dark material of his coat on his bicep softly.  
  
He frowned. "But what if you could alter it? And things heard off in a totally different direction?"  
  
"Then, it happens when it happens." She watched Angel rub his chin in thought, turning away from her for a moment, then back again.  
  
"Kiss me."  
  
"What?"  
  
Angel moved to grab her by the waist and he kissed her full on the mouth. They kissed slowly for a blissful few seconds. He pulled away, a soft whisper emanating out of Cordelia once she opened her eyes. It was more of a sigh than words, breathed out dreamily.  
  
"That was," Cordelia started, straightening the lapels of his jacket. ".Devious."  
  
_- "When the two of you are done" -_  
  
Cordelia turned, the sewers fading in a swish of smoke. Both she and Angel looked at a disapproving Wesley, the backdrop of the lobby behind him, a gangly young woman, bright and shy next to him.  
  
_- "Maybe we can finish this case now?" -_  
  
"Oh my God."  
  
Angel pulled away, mouth partially open. He looked at her, nodding. "You saw it too?"  
  
_That was. Wesley?_ Cordelia searched his eyes, trying to find an explanation. "He. the hotel?"  
  
"Wes-" Angel put a hand to his forehead, concentrating. The pain was unbearable, physical, and mental. He focused, trying to push away the fog in his mind, trying so hard.  
  
The roadblock inched, so slowly, memories fading, seeping in.  
  
Eyes closed shut, pain flared, steel plates slicing thoughts.  
  
He jerked away from her, collapsing, Cordelia gasping and lunging forward on one knee to balance him when he fell, back slamming onto her knee while a fit of spasms wracked Angel's body and mind.  
  
Remember.  
  
Her heart broke for him, anger dissipating for a moment, and she felt helpless, waiting.  
  
Lorne, that demon they had met, his words rung uneasily in her ears.  
  
_"The visions are killing him, his mind, brain to be specific. If you get right down to it, the concussion he had, the pills he's taking, it's a cocktail for primo disastero."  
  
"Angel's going to die?"_  
  
Angel stopped moving, eyes closed.  
  
She waited. Helpless.  
  
The dirty water ran over slick, uneven bricks and Cordelia kissed him again, savoring every ounce of pain pouring from his lips, if it was the last time.  
  
*  
  
"Angel? Angel?"  
  
Turning, he saw her lean over the edge of a crib, fingers tickling a cute, smiling baby.  
  
"Do you think I should feed him now?"  
  
He moved behind her, kissing her hair tenderly, a hand rubbing her shoulder. An arm hugged her shoulders, strong and powerful, muscles coiled like a jungle feline.  
  
"Sure. But after _I_ eat first."  
  
Angel growled at Cordelia, pulling her waist in close to kiss her neck, laughter spilling from her like soft rain. She smacked him away playfully, gesturing down to the infant who awoke, gurgling and smiling.  
  
Side by side, they watched Connor smile.  
  
*  
  
_Remember._  
  
Pain, sliding, pulling the convertible door open as bodies piled into the convertible, taking off from the club-  
  
No. Too soon. Too soon.  
  
Farther. The ministrations of Spike jumbled with Cordelia singing at Caritas, faint traces of Wesley and Faith kissing around the edges. At the center and slightly off to the right was Buffy, from carefree to scrutinizing, shocked, saddened, and finally firm.  
  
Boots kicked flesh as stakes met hearts, dust flying up into the air with the rain. The downpour fell upwards, so slowly, Angel and Cordelia moving back, back on fast-forward, from where they came.  
  
Static crackled and sparked, the soft sheet being torn away from memories.  
  
Leather chairs and steel manacles faded away, poorly done coffee and odd smell of beer mingled in the odor of fear and regret. Shots and needles meant nothing, head rolling back, eyes snapping shut to the sound of a mobile.. soft music.  
  
Items thrown carelessly onto the ground, clothing, books.  
  
A tangle of limbs and clothing gave way to cuddling, every word calculated for perfection.  
  
That. The sweet smell of flesh and shampoo mingled with swear and giddy anticipation, wind chiming in, door opened and-  
  
So soft and velvet, a bed of satin and roses, beautiful, ever lasting-  
  
_"Do you love me?" she asked him, a hushed tone, but also in amusement.  
  
Angel's mouth opened slightly, eyes closing before he kissed her once more.  
  
After he pulled away, she angled her face so that her forehead met his. Again in a whisper, Cordelia continued, "Because if not, I'll have to kill you."  
  
"Too late," Angel answered, offering a little shrug. "I'm already dead."_  
  
It hadn't been a dream.  
  
And then... after the pain subsided, he knew.  
  
*  
  
The roadblock was ripped, sunlight and past pain filtered through.  
  
With clumsy fingers, Cordelia pried Angel's hand away from her cheek, and with the ferocity and heat of wielded metal, she pushed away from him, skittering, the water sloshing and staining her hands and jeans.  
  
Connor.  
  
She knew his name.  
  
And as the rush of fire swept overhead on the surface, the murky water swooshed by, Angel, on his back, one leg up, the other down. remembered.   
  
Angel looked over at her, clearing his throat. He remembered her. Everything. When she got her visions, got pregnant, promised never to leave him. The hurt in her eyes when he threatened her once, the joy when he bought her all those clothes. The training sessions, the moira and kye-rumption, the. the baby.  
  
Connor. He remembered him now. His son, who cried too much, who stood silently amused when his father vamped out.  
  
Cordelia.  
  
"Cordy."  
  
The soft touch of Angel's words fell upon Cordelia hard, the inevitable feeling of pain seeped in.   
  
"I remember now. I remember everything," Angel murmured, shaking his head ever so slowly in disbelief, crawling over to her for a second before standing up again. "This. this isn't supposed to happen."  
  
Her body turned down, Cordelia looked up to Angel, with new eyes. Looking at him for the first time all over again. She felt his hands touch her arms, firm, trying to be there, body limp and uncomprehending. The kiss had broken a dam of built up memories in her, so many that they overcame fading slips of a broken past. New York shifted and turned into Sunnydale, Los Angeles. Buffy fell into place, Willow, the groping hands of Xander, the rich car, the Queen C license plate.  
  
Cordelia touched Angel's cheek with her hand, brow constricted. How had he done all this to her? Why did she do that all to him? And he was so broken, feeling worthless, angelic looks faded and distorted.  
  
Everything.. just. everything  
  
"'Your fate lies twisted and broken, as you are'," Angel murmured, looking down briefly before helping her up.  
  
"Lorne," Cordelia started, standing up fully. She bit her lip, thinking. "He hasn't changed."  
  
"Everyone else has," Angel followed, looking away.  
  
"We have to change it back to the way it was."  
  
Frowning, Angel said her name plaintively, feeling weird. Lips formed a name he didn't fully grasp yet, a nickname for the so-called starlet. "I know we do. I just don't know how everything's changed. If it has."  
  
At her look, Angel went on, "These could be false memories coming back."  
  
Cordelia wasn't sad, wasn't angry when she looked at him. Her fingers merely raised and lingered on the side of his face before he reached up to pull her hand away. Smooth, they trailed down his neck, past the collarbone and dark leather to his chest.  
  
"You're human, Angel. I can feel your heart beat," Cordelia spoke softly, no warning of tears. She wasn't going to give into the screaming portion of her brain, the one that wept and rejoiced at the same time. ".And it scares me."   
  
Angel crossed what little space there was between them, and took Cordelia into his arms.  
  
"I know. Scares me too."  
  
*  
  
It wasn't until. later on that Faith and Wesley reached his apartment. The city was shrouded in night, even though the clock read different. So many things had passed in the span of days, making Wesley wonder if something was wrong with time itself. The fires burned on throughout the city, but they were powerless to stop it. Wounded, as well.  
  
The Hyperion, in all its glory, died that night, blackened and charred by the rage and foul temperament of fire. The two were fine except for some smoke inhalation and minor bruises and cuts, but they were just dandy in comparison to previous battles.  
  
Angel and Cordelia. They. They were alive. They had to be.  
  
Remembering the rope, the lure Faith had given him when they escape to his apartment, Wesley leaned a little more on his elbow. He traced patterns on the flesh of Faith's arm, the sheet covering her breasts and not much else. Wesley told her explicitly that having sex while doing work was wrong. The city was in flames, and yet when they limped in, cleaned wounds, made calls, she still managed to throw him onto his messy bed.  
  
She didn't listen to him.  
  
It wasn't until Wesley pushed her hand away, kissing the area 'round the bandage on her abdomen, that. he knew. Seeing the healing wound on her stomach, the cross worn on her neck, so deadly, brutal.  
  
Effective.  
  
She jerked in her sleep, possibly dreaming of a sharp fall. Fall she did, as Faith tumbled over the side of the bed. Inching over to see her, a messy brunette popped up, and she was different. Perhaps the hair was more darker, the eyes more furtive, solid, blackened. Lips weren't as red as before, paler, pulled into a grimace. Yet she was the same, Faith, all of her, all of his paramour.  
  
"Wes?"  
  
The thoughts slammed into his brain, memories, clumsily falling. The pain of pride being broken at the harsh barbs of Angelus. Joining this family of sorts, after a fruitless voyage as a demon hunter. Never trusting Angel fully, sparring with Cordelia, all to the point of being hurt in the office blast. How Angel was worried sick over the two of them, cold hearted and grim when he fired them. Gunn. Fred.  
  
The pavement slicked wet, Angel holding his infant son in his arms, sheets of rain pouring down. Fred followed, Fred with her mathematics, and cute grins, logical and illogical, and he loved that about her.  
  
But here was Faith, in jail, but in his room, here and oh God, they had really-  
  
Wesley nodded. Grabbing the bed sheet to cover himself, he stood up.  
  
"Something is very wrong."  
  
Continue on...   



	6. Chapter 17

  
**Title: **If There Never Was   
**Author: **Ignited   
**Posted: **03-11-2002   
**Rating: **R for language and sexual situations   
**Email: **Ignited   
**Content: **Romance, Drama, Angst, AU-ish   
**Summary: **One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind…   
**Spoilers: **Everything up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of speculation here.   
**Disclaimer: **The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.   
**Distribution: **Disharmony, List archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!   
**Notes: **This has been sitting in my computer since June, at least. Along with two other fanfics that I planned to write, but unfortunately have no time to put real thought into them. So, this is a combination of three different ideas. With the emergence of _Vanilla Sky_, a similar but distinctly different story, I decided to finally complete this minor story, of which has turned into a full fledged monstrosity of a fic. It's my seriously screwed up and basically nothing alike, take on _Vanilla Sky._ Open minds are required, please…   
**Dedication: **To Steffi and Kath– for always believing in me, plus generally being helpful, caring, and showing good input. And to Melissa and Christie, who are fic goddesses and great friends. This one's for you. Chapter 10 Dedication: To Greenie, 'cause I'll miss him dearly!   
**Feedback:** I am a feedback junkie, so make me high.   


* * *

**Part 17**

Moving through the tunnels wasn't too hard for Angel, now that he had that influx of memories steal into his brain. It was Cordelia that Angel was worried about. He hated this place; such filth for her to travel in, but it was better than the city above. Angel didn't know exactly why the fires were going on, or why Wolfram and Hat pulled out the big guns, but all in all, things were bad.  
  
The sting of recent memories hit Angel again when they came to another crossroads. Hand slick with sweat, clenched with Cordelia's, Angel paused, trying to decide. Having her tell him not to love her... To instill doubt in himself. More loathing. Cordelia didn't mean it-At least, that's what Angel liked to believe.  
  
But Buffy.  
  
It hadn't been too long since he had last seen her. A couple hours, or months, depending on how you'd look at it.   
  
Buffy had changed. Spike had changed.  
  
Had they known that all of it was so wrong and different? Did they?  
  
"Angel, wait. What are we going - to do?" Cordelia asked, his grip tightening on her wrist. She followed along for a couple more steps before pulling on his arm. "Angel!"  
  
"We'll figure it out." At her look, Angel said firmly, "We will."  
  
The thoughts in his mind were tumultuous, a never-ending pounding racking his brain. The visions were too painful now, and it made it very hard for him to think, much less function. Frowning, Angel staggered, but just where he needed to: his hand clamped onto the rung of a ladder leading up to the surface, moonlight flooding into the cramped space through the manhole cover.  
  
Breathing hard, Angel leaned against the ladder pole, eyes snapped shut.  
  
They were switched, strong and determined, weak from visions, mind vibrant, mind deteriorating.  
  
"Hold on," Cordelia instructed, brow furrowed. She hated to see Angel like this, suffering in this - this place, whatever it was. Brushing a cool hard against his brow, Cordelia rubbed his collarbone, opening his duster more to give him air. Her hands gently caressing his face, Cordelia briefly massaged a trembling Angel, before glancing to the ladder. She turned back to look at him, trying to remain calm.  
  
Angel could handle anything. This was the same Angel who went to Hell and back, then again figuratively to save her from Pylea. A little wacky place like this didn't mean diddlysquat.  
  
Right?  
  
It was hard for her to agree.  
  
"Just come on, Angel. We're almost outside. Then we can - we can go to Wesley's. I bet he can figure out what went wrong. What's happened."  
  
"To us." Nodding, he seemed to regain some color to his face, touching her elbow. The spark of electricity went through him again, nothing like he'd felt in.. ever since. Being with her again, with HER, was both thrilling and painful at the same time. It explained the strong connection between them, the mind-blowing sex that ensued.  
  
Ever realities apart, they remained connected.  
  
He guided her to the ladder, and Cordy climbed.  
  
*  
  
Turning away from the shell of the Hyperion hotel, Buffy Summers broke down in the street and started to cry.  
  
It wasn't the hotel itself that was the source of pain and grief. It was the absolute, terrifying fear and numbness that slammed into her right then, making her see white stars before those stars collided. The crack, awakening Dawn drummed through her, lightning, thunder and strings. Reality ripped apart, blue light coalesced and her body was flying down into a portal. Dying again, only to be resurrected from bliss.  
  
The green, black and brown of fatigues mixed with the soft orange and red hues of candles, sinewy muscles of Riley gave way to chilled marble of Spike. Model curls of Glory divided, the bitchy candor giving way to laughing and nerdiness of the Troika. Giles faded from her vision, and the piercing blue eyes and long brown hair of a younger girl stepped behind her, challenging.  
  
Dawn.  
  
Mist seeped through the town of Sunnydale, figures slammed down, not even bothering to care. A turn left, and where there had been a fading street came two, three people, falling perfectly from the sky. The bell of the Magic Shop trilled, the table, books, merchandise. People fell into place, and one by one she knew their names again. Willow. Tara. Xander. Anya. Giles. And. Dawn.  
  
Spike.  
  
No, no, Spike was holding her, and she was in his arms as Spike carried her, close to running. Furtive eyes cast up, half open, a snarling vamp faced Spike, shaking and jerking his head. The soft orange glow of fire was behind him, the harsh cutting of blades through air as helicopters whizzed overhead.  
  
"We've got to get you out of here. Where's the nancy boy's house?" Knowing he would get no response from her, Spike continued on towards Wesley's apartment. Electricity ran through him, the feeling of a soft and fragile Buffy in his arms, and the confusion of memories flooding in.  
  
He loved her with all of his unbeating hear, to the point of obsession.  
  
No different from now.  
  
Hell, even in another life his heart bled for her.  
  
*  
  
Cordelia pulled Angel up from the deep yawning mouth of the sewer, letting him rest an arm around her shoulder. She pushed him gently, moving him along with her, feeling him lean into her. The heat radiating from his body startled her, unused to this sensation coming from. from Angel. Cordy knew not to dwell on it, not to become absorbed by the constant string of what if 's dancing in her mind, for she wouldn't be able to concentrate and think clearly if she did. The pain of losing him to vampirism ran deep through her, but it was needed. It was necessary, because this world was wrong. People were dying because of them, and people were not saved.  
  
Some people hadn't been born. Like Connor.  
  
_Connor._  
  
The stinging taste of regret filled her mouth, and Cordelia hated it.  
  
Angel was here, alive, warm, and he loved her. But Cordelia was going to change that. She was going to help take it away from him. And she hated it all the much more.  
  
"I don't mean to piss you off, Angel, but. what the hell is going on?"  
  
The snark and wit returned, the way she left it, feeling normal from her lips, not half sorry for talking to him in that fashion as before.  
  
He kept wincing though, and it made her more afraid. She knew what he was feeling, the aloneness, the stark terror of victims in visions, and the unbearable, mind numbing pain of it all. But Angel had strikes against him, from the crash, and it would not be too long until they would take their final toll on him.  
  
Cordelia would not let him wait to die.  
  
"Something must have - happened. Something we did. I did. Maybe I accidentally went through a portal, or some mystical trap-"  
  
"You don't fall into a portal accidentally. Trust me," Cordelia deadpanned, not getting any response from Angel. The streets were quiet, dark, and no ra dios were blaring. Shops were locked up, some broken windows, but they'd long since been taped up. This was an unnaturally quiet place in the city, residential apartments, _bodegas_, cleaners lining the sidewalks. Traffic lights flared yellow, settling for a red hue, although there were hardly any cars in sight, save for those parked.  
  
Angel sighed heavily, looking down at her. "I know. I mean the type of portal you can't see. Like a rip in the-"  
  
"Oh no. Don't you get all Voyager-y on me. Or Enterprise. Whatever that show is."  
  
"-Fabric of time." He rolled his eyes, and Cordelia smiled. That was good. Feeling a very warm, and very human Angel was good too.  
  
But it wouldn't last. None of it did.  
  
Clearing her throat, Cordelia said, "Are you even sure that these memories. that they're-"  
  
"I have a son, Cordelia," Angel responded quickly, straightening. "He's real. And alive."  
  
"I know that, Angel. It's just that - I don't know. Maybe this was what the Powers wanted us to do."  
  
"Do? Do what?" Angel asked, already sure of the answer.  
  
"They sent us to this reality. To help someone. To live." Cordelia shrugged, unsure. "Why they settled for making me a bitch, and making you. in another extent, a bitch, I have no idea."  
  
Ignoring the bitch comments, Angel stopped walking. Cordelia jerked in surprise when he pulled away from her. He seemed to regain the strength again, eyes dark, head raised. He was more tan than he remembered, than she knew him to actually be. The street experience had not left her though, glancing left and right, long dark locks sliding over firm shoulders. They were alone, the two of them.  
  
There had been more. Was Wesley really safe? Faith? Was he safe with that homicidal woman?  
  
Buffy.  
  
Cordelia hadn't thought too much of Buffy before this all happened. She was too far busy with Angel, getting used to the manic way Angel wanted to keep at working, getting used to waking up at odd hours to feed Connor. But it was nice, those times, because Angel was always there. He surprised her the first time he took over her shift. How she had walked in, fresh and wet from taking a shower, bundled up in a robe. And Angel was there, in his dark clothing, hair poking this way and that due to sleeping and various activities.  
  
The bottle had rested against his chest and for a while he played with Connor's tiny little fingers, moving his pointer finger gently in the baby's small fist.  
  
It was beautiful.  
  
More to the point, seeing moments like these made the grimy Sunnydale years fall away, Queen C license plates and demon snake loving frat boys vanished. Buffy had returned from the dead-again-and all was good for her. Angel needed time to mend the emotional wounds that opened when she died, and she gave him that time. The whole summer. He needed it.  
  
So when she saw Buffy in this reality, she hadn't known her. In a way, even in the normal world, Cordy didn't know her, truthfully. She'd written her off as a psycho, a slayer with a bad record when it came to love. Angel did love her deeply, so there must have been something about her, she thought later on.  
  
The cheating that went on not only between Buffy and Angel, but Faith and Spike, made her uneasy. They all had flaws, amplified in this dance of twisted love, romance, and betrayal. Spike, the best friend of Angel, jonesing for Buffy, Angel's girlfriend. Clearly, things had turned out wrong in that spoke of the whole wheel, but it made her stronger.  
  
Cordelia felt loved, truly and equally.   
  
Buffy however, felt cheated out of a normal relationship with Angel, so she went along with Spike. Why? Did she know how much she hurt him? Had the attraction been there since day one? Had she lost any vague trace of desire for Angel because of his appearance?  
  
More and more, Cordelia thought that this was a test from the Powers. How willing were the warriors ready to trace the line between dark and light, rising and falling?  
  
And what side were they on?  
  
Wanting to ask Angel more questions, Cordelia moved forward, a harsh chilling wind flaring up. It whipped around her, stinging like whips, hitting skin roughly, sending Cordelia to latch onto a much warmer Angel. He fumbled, hand searching for her own for a few seconds, then clasped, head turning left and right. The air seemed to grow humid, hardening into a black, smoky mist that blew viciously around them. Like a hurricane, only milder. It was still just as scary.  
  
Yearning to be heard over the deafening noise, Cordelia shouted, "ANGEL!"  
  
With the fluidity of a man, once two hundred year old vampire, Angel snaked an arm around Cordelia's waist, pulling her close to his body. Squinting to keep the dust and debris flying from hitting his eyes, Angel waited for the terror to stop. It did, wind whipping to coalesce into a column of dark clouds, flames licking blue and black around the edges.  
  
From the darkness, it shifted, waved and formed a man wearing all dark colors.  
  
Eyes widening, Angel took a step back, the frightened gaze of Cordelia peering over his shoulder.  
  
"Wesley?"  
  
*  
  
"I take it you've found out the surprise."  
  
It was Wesley, but different. Clean shaven, hair a trifle shorter than they' d last seen him. No glasses. His tone and manner, the way he carried himself as he stepped down to Earth, was different. He seemed cocky, proper. It almost reminded Angel of that man he had met years before, Giles' friend Ethan Rayne. Except where an eternal boyishness had been, there was a fierce clamor of boastfulness and power in its place.  
  
This was wrong.  
  
"And look at you. Where has Angel gone? The savior?" Wesley walked over, smooth and fluid in his movements, face to face with Angel. He flicked the collar of Angel's duster disdainfully, walking around him and Cordelia in a small circle, eyes scrutinizing. Checking out a student's piece of work, only to give critical comments and no praise after the inspection. "What is this? What happened to you, Angel? Should I be sorry to say that this is the champion for the Powers?"  
  
There was gleeful malice in Wesley's eyes, and Angel knew it wasn't him.  
  
"Who are you?" Angel asked, eyes narrowing. Cordy moved forward but Angel held her back, shaking his head.  
  
"I am what I am. I'm your technical support, to put it in layman's terms. You've gone and made a mess out of things, haven't you?" Wesley shrugged, arms crossing.  
  
Taking this in, Angel paused for a moment. Then, the sarcastic tone creeping into his voice, he said with a mock yawn, "Already bored. Were you trying to get to a point anytime soon?"  
  
"Angel here doesn't have too much patience," Cordelia said with a small grin, jerking a thumb at him. Her smile was soon replaced by a scowl, eyes angry. "I don't either. What the hell is going on?"  
  
"You've figured it out, the two of you. Although much credit goes to Angel, despite the cheating bonus he had at this game. As you'll soon find out though, I consider myself to be a sore loser, just so you both know in advanced."  
  
"This game?" Angel's expression darkened and he pointed at the orange glow of fire in other streets. "You call people dying a game?"  
  
"Don't take it out on the messenger. You should take it out on yourself, old boy. It's your fault."  
  
Fingers clenching hard on the material of Angel's duster, Cordelia resisted the urge to pummel Wesley, even if it wasn't him really. But damn, the feeling was strong. "How is it his fault?"  
  
"He knows what's wrong. He just doesn't want to admit that he made a mistake," Wesley told her, an eyebrow raised. "Isn't that right, Angel?"  
  
Angel shook his head slowly, eyes still focused on Wesley. "I stepped through a portal."  
  
"Close, but no cigar. Actually, your actions caused this world to form, so any bloodshed is your fault. But then again, you're used to all the past guilt, so adding a little more wouldn't hurt, now would it?" Wesley was smiling quite evilly now, and it took all that Angel had, in his weak state, not to smack that grin off his face.  
  
"Think hard, Angel. Think really, really hard." No response again, leading Wesley to tilt his head in amusement. "All right. I'll give you a clue."  
  
The vision slammed into Angel, reverberating into Cordelia. Wesley raised his hand, and soon a bright white light began to glow, illuminating them both from the inside, eyes white until everything faded to the color of stars.  
  
*  
  
You were in the way, Angel. You. Champion. Warrior. Wretch of an ensouled vampire sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Your seer, Cordelia, your love, your flame? Do you call someone who's responsible for the death of thousands a savior? If so, then I consider you to be less intelligent than I perceived you to be before. Let us move on then.  
  
Her vision steered you and your friends to the hideaway amongst the sewers. The Temsik demons. Do you remember them? Your savagery? How you tore up a band of brothers - my brothers? Saving your precious friends, I've no doubt. And how, just as the meek would fall, your fingers pressed against the leader-my older brother, my _krathkarr_- the dark skinned friend of yours pleaded for help to save that slip of a girl. And that you did. You left them all there to die.  
  
You were wrong. That was your mistake.  
  
Did you know that you were two point oh six three seconds from stopping all of this? You were so very close to snapping his neck, killing him instantly, but you chose to drop him to save Fred, that girl? If you hadn't, and my brother was dead, she would have dislodged a worn wooden plank from her side near the wall and slammed it into the chest of her attacker.  
  
You could have. You did not.  
  
Sometimes I wonder as I watched you fall, watched you struggle, if this was what you intended to do. That all along, you wished to be human. You _wished_ to be with Buffy. You _wished_ for the friendship and acceptance despite your appearance, despite _who you were_ amongst your peers. Because that's all you had to live for in this world. In your city, in Los Angeles, the mask of humanity was in place, the aura of mystery, and you were content. You wanted to know if despite all that, could you be liked? Could you be cared for? Your makeshift family cared for you in the best possible way they could. Cordelia loved you, Connor was yours, and everything was well.  
  
You were happy. We wanted to make you suffer.  
  
My brother lived, battered, half dead. He returned to me, and we all formed a plan. Wolfram and Hart, that group of detestable lawyers would further it, for it was written that your fate would be twisted and broken.  
  
As you were.  
  
Hatched from your insecurities, mingled with the faint traces of dreams, wishes by your peers. The verbs 'twisted' and 'broken' are two of the most interesting in your vocabulary. I sought to expand on them in your regard. The puzzle pieces fit into place quite seamlessly. Disfigured from a car crash, your 'true love' no longer feeling affection for you. That was amusing. But add the other extras, the fringe benefits, and you were set for a long and harsh eternity.  
  
You went on. You lived. You suffered.  
  
We were pleased.  
  
Then _she_ came along.  
  
Cordelia Chase, the tool of destruction, the seer who sent you on your final mission. The girl you met again, and you were not supposed to. Memories of two years of blissful hell went awry, because of her. Yet she was so solid a construct in this dimension created out of your memories, that it was unable to erase her.  
  
Through eternity, through dimensions, you loved her.  
  
We raged.  
  
Obstructions were thrown at every turn. The more you broke down- Buffy sleeping with Spike, the doctor's inability to fix your wounds, the visions debilitating your brain-we grew ever more content. But time and time again, she foiled it, damned it, took you in her arms and loved you.  
  
Apparently, nothing is stronger than the love of one so connected with the Powers that Be.  
  
Even after turning her three hundred and sixty degrees, a dark side, reckless and wild, you loved it. You hungered for it, like a wolf for its prey.  
  
We tried again. Amplified, tweaked, and as time went by, it grew harder to control you.  
  
But then, you've always been hard to control.  
  
*  
  
The demon, for that was what he was really, grew angrier at every intake of breath. Shifting form as it spoke, quickly becoming the wrinkly and scaly, dark green demon. Eyes sealed, burned shut, arms remained crossed. No matter that it could not see, for it could, greater than Angel. It was horrible and all seeing, and Angel, shaken, could not turn away.  
  
"You messed up. My life seeped through the cracks. Being restricted from entering the apartment. Vampire rules." Angel nodded, understanding. "The reflection in the mirror changing. The Sunnydale newspaper article."  
  
The beginning came to him clearly now, soft worn photographs dancing in his eyes. How he'd left for the mission, to kill those demons. Coming home, Cordelia and Connor sleeping. Then, the dream of him losing her, being alone on the street. From that, he woke into the brand of madness, thinking everything before that, his real life, had been a dream. Now he knew it wasn 't.  
  
Eyes lowered to Cordelia who stood riveted, hazel brimming with tears of frustration and doubt.  
  
"Kissing you." He sighed, turning away from her, to the demon again. "Brought it all back. Because I loved her."  
  
Shrugging, the Temsik demon nodded. "The article of your past acquaintances shifted to what really occurred." He gestured a claw around. "This world was born from your memories, people how you knew them. But you loved Buffy, and you hated Spike, for example, so we changed that.  
  
"Faith of 1998. Spike of 2001. Buffy of 2002. Your mind filled in the blanks, besides the information gathered to contrast: Spike for example. Somewhat good, your best friend. Something you didn't expect."  
  
"Buffy's friends. Xander, Willow-"  
  
"Unnecessary and gone. The more players, the more complicated. You see. Everything went wrong because of you. With your wretched lot, you accepted your horrible fate. But that girl got your mind stirred up again, and you started to feel again. To wish, hope, dream.maybe even love. Individualism complicates things. You were no longer an empty shell. No strength, barely functioning, face disfigured and bitter that your girlfriend didn't care for you anymore," the demon told Angel.  
  
A pointed claw waved at him. "You were the cause of her distance, your own isolation. You pushed her out, and like a normal human girl, she moved on. You could've had a better life, tried to do things but instead you caused your own misery. People have died; others have lived because of your foolishness. Do you think you can add those souls on your conscience? Or would you finally end it all, to save quite possibly the world, and your own damned soul?  
  
"In short, Angelus, you are your own destruction."  
  
".End it all?" Angel echoed, staring down at the floor. He looked up once more. "And everything will return to the way it was before this happened?"   
  
"Everything. Including her, without you."  
  
Angel looked to his left, suddenly seeing Cordelia chained. The darkness had crept up to her, dark gray tinged smoke hardening around her wrists, becoming solid, and bounding her. She had stepped forward towards him but was violently pulled back, chains bound, but not connected to a wall, merely fading into nothingness, arms raised and glaring.  
  
"Angel!" Cordy shouted, struggling against her manacles. "Don't listen to him! He's lying. He won't change anything back when you die!"  
  
"I would _never_. What have I to gain from ruling this pitiful version of the world?" The demon appeared to take an interest with his nails, a human trait. "I'm not allowed to go back on that. They won't let me."  
  
"They?"  
  
"The Powers That Be. While I don't work for them, they keep everything in order. This that was written. 'The champion shall die in order to fulfill his cause, by saving those from a wretched fate'."  
  
Taking a deep breath- feeling the air travel down into his lungs, savoring it, air that he needed- Angel's head canted in Cordy's direction. "I'll have to take that chance."  
  
He glanced at the demon that merely waved a claw flippantly in response. After this, Angel turned and moved to Cordy. She raised her hand, wrist still bound by the manacle, but smoky chain extending long enough. Trembling fingers touched his cheek, caressing it. Upon her touch, scars faded, skin became smooth, face aligned perfectly in place.  
  
"Oh God, Angel," Cordelia sniffed, feeling his strong hand clamp on her fingers.  
  
"Tell the others I'm all right." Angel cleared his throat, searching for the right words. His eyes roamed the curve of her neck, memories of kissing that same one so.long ago. No.not long.had that really happened. His mind felt so jumbled, torn and confusing.  
  
"Take care of Connor for me."  
  
Her body almost shuddered, eyes wide. She remembered holding the soft, cute baby in her arms, watching him giggle. Remembered sleeping with Angel, Connor between them, hazy thoughts filled with chipmunks on ice. The panic and worry in Angel's eyes and heart when something threatened Connor's safety. The sparkling smile and jovial laugh when Angel raised his son high above, talking nonsense words and praising him.  
  
He was her breaking point, and at the sudden realization that yes, he could leave her permanently, made her break down. Tears stinging, Cordy tried to keep herself from shaking. "No," she told him, but referring to the task at hand, not Connor. She knew that he knew what she meant.  
  
This was it, wasn't it? He really _was_ going to do it.  
  
His hand came up, caressing her face as he kissed her tenderly, long.hard. He could feel a tingling sensation however, not out of love. Scars reappeared, features shifted, distortion faded into place as he kissed her. It kind of reminded him about the movie 'The Mummy', when the bad guy kissed the girl, flesh decaying.  
  
Only not that 'eww', he could imagine her murmuring, half asleep. Her head resting against his shoulder, they had watched that movie together, falling asleep curled up against each other.  
  
It seemed so long ago. But how much time had passed when they were like this? Were those two years real, or had it just been a week?  
  
He pulled away from her, back to the wounded human being .he had become.  
  
She wanted to hate him, right then, for doing this. But while her body screamed to be free, her heart thumped in her chest furiously from longing. Cordelia struggled against her chains, voice hoarse and nearly gone from the sadness building in her heart. "Angel."  
  
Angel turned to the demon, everything almost in slow motion.  
  
"Just remember. This'll hurt you a lot more than it does me," the demon said sarcastically. In his now raised claw, a gun cocked.  
  
After all the battles, wounds, and tension, there was merely a simple gun.  
  
The shot went off, bullet flying through the air and hammering into Angel's chest.  
  
Blood flowed, eyes widened.  
  
And then, Cordelia's world fell apart.  
  
"NO!" she screamed, just as Angel staggered, clutching the fresh, alarming wound on his stomach before collapsing.  
  
She shouted his name over and over until her throat was raw, face streaky, a look of pure pain and desolation. This was just NOT happening. A part of her grew cold, dead inside by looking at him on the floor, face twisted in pain and anguish. Glancing to the assailant- gone, shadows remained- Cordy pulled free, manacles fading away to nothingness.  
  
"No. Oh God, no. No, you can't. Angel. Angel, listen to me. Angel. Angel, please wake up. You can't- You can't leave me here. No. Angel. Wake up, Angel. Wake up!"  
  
She threw herself upon him, holding the jacket into place as pressure to stop the bleeding. He gasped for air, dark eyes staring wildly. In the light they looked almost gray. He choked out something, faintly feeling Cordelia's frantic hands on his face. She ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the length, but missing the shortness too.  
  
"Angel, please. Stay awake, okay? I'm gonna get you out of here," his girlfriend told him, gently taking his arm. She peered out into the darkness of the Los Angeles street, knowing Wesley's apartment was nearly a block away. Perhaps they could try to.get there. Before anything-  
  
"It's just a gut wound. Come on big boy. You've been impaled before," Cordelia teased, trying to instill some calmness in Angel. Her work went to no avail though, because he was already pretty quiet, staring down with an occasional wince. Her thoughts filled with past events, Wesley getting shot.he'd been worse off, staring blankly. Gunn, his friends Rondell and George had taken an ambulance to the teen shelter because of the zombie cops. But even though they'd been delayed, Wes made it out okay.  
  
Angel nodded sluggishly. "Okay."  
  
They walked.  
  
*  
  
"Open up Wes! OPEN THE DAMN FRICKIN' DOOR!"  
  
"Cordelia?"  
  
"IT'S CORDY! OPEN UP THE DOOR! I NEED TO-  
  
The door swung open, a less than miffed Wesley behind it.  
  
"-COME IN!"  
  
"Must you continue yelling?" Wesley asked, a raised eyebrow. His eyes focused on her, glasses removed. She looked haggard, hair messy and face streaky. In her arms was the thin form of Angel, head bowed and a painful wince on his disfigured face. Her arms supported him, one of his own arms draped across her shoulder. Hand keeping her jacket in place on Angel's stomach, Cordelia applied pressure to a gut wound.  
  
The blood dripped onto the floor.  
  
"He's been shot," Cordelia explained, pushing past Wesley into his apartment. She helped Angel over to the couch, letting him lie back on it. Angel groaned, teeth clenched, bullet burning into his stomach.  
  
Unsure of how to begin his realization, Wesley moved quickly into the kitchen. He disappeared for half a minute, hurriedly coming back to her with a wet rag. "Here. Put this on the wound."  
  
She nodded thankfully, removing her jacket. There was a hole blown into Angel's thin sweatshirt, blood pouring out. Pressing the rag there, Cordelia stroked the side of Angel's face, murmuring words of encouragement.  
  
"Cordelia, I have something. To tell you. I would've told you earlier, but you were not at the Hotel. You see, this reality-"  
  
"Isn't real. I know." Her eyes lifted to Wesley's, who looked mildly surprised. "This isn't the way it's supposed to be. Angel's not a vamp, I'm a big slut here, and you're not book-ish.yadda yadda. Think you can, oh I don't know, CALL AN AMBULANCE!?!"  
  
"You knew?" Wesley asked, taking a step back. "How long ago did you-"  
  
"WESLEY. I hope you realize that Angel happens to be HUMAN, which means there's a possibility he could DIE if you go on with your philosophical THEORIES," Cordelia snapped, angrily shaking a lock of hair away from her face. "In fact, give me the phone if you can't do it yourself."  
  
"I don't have a phone." After getting a look of pure "Huh?" from Cordelia, Wesley continued, "Phone bill. Expensive. I.cut corners and use the pay phone."  
  
"Which is."  
  
"Five blocks from here."  
  
"You've GOT to be KIDDING me."  
  
"Apparently in this world I do not run a crime fighting agency, hence my low income!" Wesley responded, going over to the table near Angel's couch. He leaned over and dug into his leather bag, searching for his medical tools. "We can't take him to the hospital. What if they find something through his blood? He is a seer, after all."  
  
"Cord.Cord." Angel murmured, eyes fluttering.  
  
"Stay with me Angel. Just stay with me," Cordelia instructed, fingertips gingerly touching his hairline.  
  
Wesley moved to Cordelia side, opening the medical bag. "It's in his stomach?"  
  
"Yeah huh." She eyed the wicked looking appliances inside, while Wesley put on a pair of plastic gloves. "Reality check Wes: Angel is not some demon that you can fiddle around his insides."  
  
Angel's voice was low, as he coughed and looked over at Wesley. "Let him do what he. can."  
  
"Faith. FAITH," Wesley called while ripping a larger hole in Angel's shirt. Cordelia looked confused, but soon Faith came into view, adjusting the zipper of her pants.  
  
"Wesley-" Faith paused, hand resting against the doorway of Wesley's room. She surveyed the scene, then came immediately over to them after seeing the sight of blood. "Shit. What happened?"  
  
"I got shot," Angel deadpanned, eyes half open.  
  
"Damn," Faith breathed, kneeling by Angel as well. He looked up at her, trying to smile but it just didn't come off right. "911 sounds like a good idea right now."  
  
"Wesley doesn't have a phone."  
  
"You're kidding me."  
  
"He's even cheap in THIS reality."  
  
"Figures."  
  
Wesley cleared his throat, moving the clutched triceps instrument to Angel's wound. "If you do happen to notice, we have a gun shot victim here. Can you save your yammering for afterwards, please?!"  
  
"Touchy," Faith murmured, hand cupping Cordelia's elbow. "I think we better leave the professional up to this, C."  
  
Cordelia opened her mouth to say something, but instead remained silent. She nodded, pulling away from Angel's side. Faith gently nudged her into the small kitchen area, making her sit at the table there.  
  
"Look. I'm gonna go call 911. Phone's a few blocks down, but I'll run," Faith said, giving a slight wink. She moved to the front door, and after pulling her jacket on and the door slamming shut, she was gone.  
  
And all Cordelia could do was wait for a miracle.  
  
Continue on...   



	7. Chapter 18

  
**Title: **If There Never Was   
**Author: **Ignited   
**Posted: **03-11-2002   
**Rating: **R for language and sexual situations   
**Email: **Ignited   
**Content: **Romance, Drama, Angst, AU-ish   
**Summary: **One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind…   
**Spoilers: **Everything up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of speculation here.   
**Disclaimer: **The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.   
**Distribution: **Disharmony, List archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!   
**Notes: **This has been sitting in my computer since June, at least. Along with two other fanfics that I planned to write, but unfortunately have no time to put real thought into them. So, this is a combination of three different ideas. With the emergence of _Vanilla Sky_, a similar but distinctly different story, I decided to finally complete this minor story, of which has turned into a full fledged monstrosity of a fic. It's my seriously screwed up and basically nothing alike, take on _Vanilla Sky._ Open minds are required, please…   
**Dedication: **To Steffi and Kath– for always believing in me, plus generally being helpful, caring, and showing good input. And to Melissa and Christie, who are fic goddesses and great friends. This one's for you. Chapter 10 Dedication: To Greenie, 'cause I'll miss him dearly!   
**Feedback:** I am a feedback junkie, so make me high.   


* * *

**Part 18**

"Cordelia. I need to. Are you sitting down? Well. of course, that's - obvious," Wesley said at length, standing near her place at the kitchen table. He placed a hand on her shoulder after removing the sticky plastic gloves and throwing them out. Her fingers reached over and grabbed his hand.  
  
"How is he?"  
  
".I can't find the bullet," Wesley said slowly. "He's losing a lot of blood. Plus, the accident has already wrecked havoc on his insides, so unless the ambulance can-  
  
"No." Cordelia shook her head. "No. You're not telling me this."  
  
"Cordelia." He paused, clearing his throat. ".I - I can't stop the bleeding."  
  
Abruptly, the young woman stood up from her chair, pushing past him. She moved into the small living room, to see Angel still on the couch. He was pale and sweaty, eyelids fluttering. It looked like it pained him to breathe, much less keep the soaked rag in place with a trembling fist.  
  
So lost and helpless, mortal and weak.  
  
She found herself moving to his side, kneeling. Kissing his forehead tenderly, Cordelia held the rag in place, applying direct pressure to the wound. Maybe those Health classes paid off after all. But if they did, would she have been in this mess in the first place?  
  
No. The demon said something along the lines of it being Angel's fault. Not her own.  
  
Just then, the front door thundered with a series of fast knocks. Wesley opened the door hurriedly to see a panting Faith before him.  
  
"I called. Quite a trip. They're comin'. As fast as any ambulance would come around this neighborhood, that is."  
  
"Meaning not so fast." Wesley frowned, rubbing his temples.  
  
"Why can't we just try taking him there?"  
  
"Buffy and Spike are missing, and it's hard to move a gunshot victim," Wesley replied, remembering slowly. yes, when he was shot. And Gunn, his friend and co-worker, a man he never knew, but did. Saved him. He knew him. They. They were friends, he could remember.  
  
"It's internal bleeding. I can't stop it," Wesley repeated, strong eyes on Faith, avoiding looking at the pair nearby. Her posture stiffened, eyes no longer wild, but now fearful. Not careless, for that was Faith through and through, five by five and all that jazz. But Angel was her guide. Her rock. They weren't together, but after all he'd done for her, in this world and the next, it felt almost like... she was losing a leg.  
  
Or an arm.  
  
"But. we just can't leave him. Come on. We can take him. We can, all right? Wesley, please?" Faith cast a look in Angel's direction. 'Please', she had said. Desperate. Wishing against time.  
  
"Faith. I've tried the best I can do. He's worse off than I was," Wesley admitted, rubbing Faith's shoulder. Her arm was gone, numb, as Angel slipped away from her.  
  
Cordelia gave them both a look, slightly nodding in Angel's direction. Wesley took the hint, pulling Faith by that same arm with him into his room.  
  
The silence festered like a disease in the stale air between the former vampire and his love.  
  
Angel's eyes lifted to look at Cordelia.   
  
"I'm dying, Cordy."  
  
"No!" Noticing her own abrupt tone, she explained more softly. "No, you can't die. NOT here. Not like THIS," Cordelia told him, grasp tightening, trying to force some love and strength into him.  
  
It was so quiet in that little apartment.  
  
"I don't think I can."  
  
"Don't say that." She managed a half giggle, nervous panic creeping into her tone. Her hand caressed his face once more; thumb brushing the scar on his chin. "Everything's gonna be okay."  
  
An echo of a phrase said in comfort, so long, long ago.  
  
"We'll be fine, Angel."  
  
He turned away from her.  
  
".Pretty soon back in the hotel. Connor, Wes, and Fred and Gunn- Everyone will be there. You'll see. Everything will be - right as rain again."  
  
She waited for him.  
  
"I've.You have to go on without me. Don't mourn me. You need - to live. Promise me that- Promise me that much. .Take care of him, Cordy," Angel instructed her, fingers clenching weakly on her fingers as he felt the life drain out of him, bullet wound far too deep. Blood flowed freely, and a sick sense deep within wondered why he wasn't salivating by the mouth. It was warm, sticky blood, human.  
  
The smell alone nauseated him now. He liked that sick feeling.  
  
"Angel." She sighed, right hand stroking his brow, left hand pressing down on the rag still. Her fingers felt wet, blood seeping through. "Shh. Quiet. Don't speak," she told him, voice cracking.  
  
"Cordelia.I always wanted-" His breath came out in a gurgle, coughing a little. Eyes lifting to look at her, left, right, focusing. "Cordy? .I can't see you."  
  
"Oh God.Angel. ANGEL!" She shook his shoulders, sending a lock of dark brown hair about on his forehead. He stared with unseeing eyes, haunting and dark, and yet a stark contrast.  
  
"No. No. You CAN'T leave me alone. You just CAN'T."  
  
She hit his chest uselessly, recognizing the familiar lack of breath. But that was bad, because he NEEDED to breathe. She checked his vitals, feeling no pulse.One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Cordelia still hit his chest, crying his name, cursing because she didn't know what to do. CPR.God, her mind was a jumbled mix of images, all roads leading to Angel.  
  
"Open your eyes, Angel. Please. please open your eyes. Oh God.please. Please!"  
  
No sounds of life coming from him. Like always.  
  
He was dead, not just undead.  
  
Dead through and through.  
  
"I can't. I can't- Don't do this to me, Angel," Her voice breaking and barely there, she pounded his chest. It grew weaker with each blow, until she merely rested her head on his chest, crying. "Don't leave me- You CAN'T leave me. God, you just can't! Don't leave me! Don't leave me here alone, Angel! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE ALONE!"  
  
The last caress, frantic, more pounding, crying, falling so far down that there was no light.  
  
She heard the heaving breath of Buffy, could almost feel the softness of leather as Buffy buried her face in Spike's shoulder in the doorway. He'd show no emotion. He was a vampire. But he was pained.  
  
They waited.  
  
And all Cordelia could do was sob. Because she felt dead inside..And stuck. Stuck in this God forsaken cruel image of a world, where vampires were endless in numbers, loved ones cheated and lied.a world without Angel.  
  
Everything was so quiet.  
  
Tranquil.  
  
Dead.  
  
How could she live without her soul?  
  
*  
  
She mourned.  
  
Cordelia watched the coroner come, watched them zip the shiny black body bag shut. A last glimpse of Angel's face before the zipper closed. He had been so cold and lifeless, more so than she ever knew him. She remembered those times they'd fallen asleep together innocently, her head resting on his strong chest. In the morning, she'd smack him playfully, knowing he'd eventually wake up. Before that happened, treating him like a stuffed animal, dead but alive, was fun.  
  
Now, seeing the body being pulled away, resting on a stretcher.  
  
The.  
  
The body.  
  
Angel's body. Angel was dead.  
  
Her hands moved up, down, up again. She rubbed her arms, trying to rid the sense of death that clung to her like a slick and oily black cloak. It smothered her, going into her mouth, down her throat, filling her lungs. She remembered Wesley coming up behind her, his hand on her shoulder, massaging it. Telling her lies, that "everything would be all right", that they would figure out some way to change everything back to the way it was.  
  
How could everything be all right?  
  
Angel was dead. Nothing would ever be right again.  
  
She knew that now, as days passed by, the body count rose. Fires raged throughout Los Angeles, spreading to other parts of California. Faintly, Cordy could see and feel the hustle and bustle of her friends, the shouting, and the explanations. Scrambling to save a new city in their eyes, a place they lived in, and yet only heard about. In her cramped position, knees up to her chin, long dark hair a barrier to the world. she mourned.  
  
Angel told her not to.  
  
She didn't listen.  
  
"Cordelia."  
  
_"I love you," he had told her._  
  
"My word. Your hands are like ice! Get up."  
  
_"I want to be with you," he had said to her._  
  
She closed her eyes and held her knees tighter, hearing Wesley talk to her.  
  
Console her.  
  
Cordelia wanted him to stop. He didn't. He grabbed her, shook her violently, sending her to her feet. Limbs loose, head rolled back until she found her eyes again and focused. Feeling a man's touch on her body that wasn't. his. It was - It was Wesley. She pushed him away, staggering to her feet, and then down again.  
  
".Wesley?" Her mouth felt strange and numb.  
  
The world snapped into focus, and it was still so wrong. She could feel her back against the foot of Angel's bed, could see Wesley's piercing gaze stab into her. He was clean-shaven, clothes casual and relaxed, and yet with that rumpled look both he and Giles managed to wear so well.  
  
Giles was dead, too, now that she remembered what Wesley had told her.  
  
"I think I've finally figured it out," Wesley said, and she remembered him again, how he had been. That 'Eureka!' look in his eyes, mouth set in a line of determination. He was on the verge of something. Something important.  
  
"Figured what out?" Cordelia asked, a 'come hither' motion of her hand so he could help her up.  
  
After Wesley pulled her to her feet, he continued, "How to fix it."  
  
"It?"  
  
"This reality. You said that you and Angel faced a demon, the same one who shot him, is that correct?"  
  
"Yeah," Cordy agreed, rubbing her temples.  
  
"Because of the mistake Angel made, as you so described, and the reparations it caused, this is the reality that shaped out of thoughts, ideas, and nightmares from Angel's mind. Due to the carefully weaved construct, trying to go back into the past to warn him might not work," Wesley told her.  
  
He had a knack for getting her confused. "Why not?"  
  
"I don't have the same textbooks I did as before," Wesley said, shrugging sheepishly. "I can't do that type of spell. With time passing and trying to venture in, things may have the possibility to change. Variations, Cordelia. There's a small chance, but it may happen. And who's to say the demon might not already know what will happen when we warn him? We can't take that risk."  
  
"You know. Sometimes. You really don't make sense. And you really get on my nerves," Cordelia admonished, and for once she noticed the surroundings. They were in a motel, she ventured, how far from home, she could not tell.  
  
Everything was so far away.  
  
"But you know I love ya for it, Wes."  
  
He saw her hands shake, thumbs looping jeans loops. Continuing, Wesley told her, "But there may be another way. It's even more riskier than the other procedure I mentioned, and has a lower success rate, but if and when it works, everything will go back to normal."  
  
Her head raised, voice pained, eyes still streaky.  
  
"What do you want me to do?"  
  
*  
  
It had been a sunny and breezy day, the smell of flowers greeting Cordelia Chase's nose.  
  
She hated it. It seemed to mock her.  
  
Surrounded by the smell of gasoline, oil, and automobile parts, Cordy rubbed her arms. Cold in this bitter wind, the jacket Buffy gave her did no good, as she still felt ice slam into her. Soft, warm arms embraced her as Angel leaned to whisper in her ear. But like a rare dream, it grew thin and vanished, carried out into the four winds. Instructing herself to focus, she took in the sight of the little band of rebels, and longed for those missing and lost.  
  
Buffy, Spike, Faith, and Wesley were there, calm, sarcastic, reckless, and wise. After asking why they had to perform the ceremony at the junkyard, Wesley replied that it was better to do it in a more open area than a lime green wallpapered home designer's nightmare. She thought he was hanging out with her too much.  
  
"All you have to do is cut these sticks on my mark. Buffy will throw the lit candle into the pile there and you'll step into it," Wesley said, crouching to arrange a semi circle on the ground. Cordelia hovered nearby, pacing a little. Meticulous, Wesley has arranged some dry twigs into the half circle shape, dark red ribbons tied around the middle of each. The smell of herbs and incense rose up, cast down onto the floor and spread out in the circle.  
  
"Whoa. Wait a minute. You want me to step into the fire? Uh, if you came with a flame retardant suit, now's a good time to tell me," Cordelia asked, doubt creeping into her voice.  
  
"It won't harm you," Wesley assured her quickly, standing up. He looked to Faith briefly, noticing her talk to Spike quietly, just as Buffy lit a few candles situated near the circle on the ground. "It's supposed to resemble the path we all travel. The journey of life, how it rises from a simple spark, blossoms and catches fire, burning brightly until it is quenched by death."  
  
Cordelia raised an eyebrow, nodding sagely. "And you got all Hallmark on me, when?"  
  
"For lack of a better expression, it also resembles the love you feel for Angel, and how much you're willing to show it."  
  
".It's a test."  
  
"A test of love."  
  
Her breath caught up, and Cordelia tried to clear her thoughts. There was no way she could mess this up. Mostly because if it didn't work, she'd probably get burned pretty badly. Then again, she'd take a little fire if it meant she could see her Angel again.  
  
Connor, Fred, and Gunn were entitled to that.  
  
"I'm ready," Cordelia admitted, although she felt nothing of the sort.  
  
"It's time to kick the tires and light the fires, baby," Faith spoke up with a flourish, stepping up to the plate. Spike followed close behind, and soon the four surrounded Cordelia, who remained a step or two behind the semi-circle.  
  
Faith to her left, Buffy in front, Wesley, right. Spike had the job of grabbing her from behind, in case anything went wrong.  
  
"Don't worry at all, love. If anything happens to you, I'll be sure to remember those fire safety commercials," Spike grinned, head canted. The harsh moonlight cast down and accentuated his pale skin, blue eyes darting to view the fleet of vehicles on the highway nearby. There was chaos, horns blaring far off, people shouting and screaming.  
  
Everyone wanted to get out of Los Angeles, the place of ruin.  
  
The sky above was tinged dark with clouds and smoke, making the soft orange glow of candlelight warm and alluring. Buffy was uncharacteristically quiet, but soon she moved to Cordelia, carefully stepping past the arrangement on the floor.  
  
"Cordy." Although the sound of cars and trucks were not too far away, Cordelia could still hear the constricted voice of Buffy. How she was tense, muscles coiled, expecting to fight at any moment.  
  
And tired. So tired.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I want you to know that. I hope there are no hard feelings between us. What happened with Angel, I couldn't-"  
  
"I know," Cordelia cut her off, eyes growing stormy almost. She was too old for all this, she felt, worn and weary from so much, so much pain that assaulted her. Beat her nearly to death. But in the end, it was words that could hurt her now, every last syllable of Angel's last wishes cutting into her like violin strings. "I know you didn't mean to hurt him. You couldn't help it. Wacky alternaverse, remember?"  
  
Biting her lip, Buffy glanced at Wesley, who looked more or less impatient. "I'm not even sure if we'll remember this. But I want you to know for now that I'm - sorry. And I don't mind."  
  
"Don't mind what?"  
  
"You and Angel."  
  
It was Cordelia's turn to grow meek and quiet. "Oh."  
  
"Things changed," Buffy smiled simply, showing a flash of a smile. The old Buffy peeked through, not this new one with pinned up, messy blonde hair, ripped jeans and a stained sweater.  
  
"That they do," Cordelia grinned back, head canting. "And what with the whole bizzaroland, vampy scoobies, Anya necklace thing, I figure we're both even. That okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
For the first time, perhaps ever, perhaps in this world only, Buffy and Cordelia hugged.  
  
After a moment, they pulled away, smiles fading and cautious faces returning. Buffy turned back to the place where she stood, getting a cocky look from Spike. He waved his arms dramatically, gesturing to her, then to himself.  
  
"What? No hug for me?" Spike asked with a malicious grin, receiving an eye roll from Buffy in response.  
  
"I assume we're all present and accounted for," Wesley began, looking around. "Good. Then let's begin."  
  
Forcing down the lump of dread forming in her throat, Cordelia felt merely like a voyeur. She could hear Wesley speak a strange language, perhaps Latin and a mix of one so old, it hadn't been spoken for millennia. A blade sliced across her palms, snapping her into reality when Buffy smeared Cordelia's blood down her face, resembling teardrops.  
  
The stinging sensation soon gave way to anticipation, her fists clenching as instructed.  
  
Wesley, candle in one hand, book in the other, continued. "I call forth the higher powers to guide this champion through the darkest hour. Let faith and courage shine down upon her and grant her the light and wise vision to distinguish glory from the fallen, truth from lies, love from what was once there and cannot be undone."  
  
He went on for a while, and yet Cordelia could not help but break her frown with a smile, seeing the jovial form of Faith wink back at her. The wind whipped high and harsh around them, sending scattered newspaper scraps and other things like dust and used food trays into the air. It built up so suddenly, blowing through jackets and upwards. Burning brightly, the fire was in danger. And this was a one shot chance only, as the nearest shop containing the rare ingredients Wesley used was just over on another continent.  
  
"Buffy, now!"  
  
The candle flew in a perfect arc, moving down, down, into the pile of smoking herbs and spices. They immediately caught flame, and saying a quick prayer-  
  
Cordelia jumped into the fire.  
  
*  
  
_Falling.  
  
The scenery around her froze, unmoving, and yet she felt the sensation of falling. It was like a television show when one moment, you see one picture, and then another picture emerges beneath the first.  
  
This wasn't TV. This was in three, not two dimensions.  
  
The picture had sound, sight, and smell. It had Buffy in front of her, hand extended, body frozen. Her eyes were strong and clear, flickers of flame dancing in them. It had the sound of cars blaring from far off, the rich smell of burning incense. It had the prickling sweat on the back of her neck, residue of fear.  
  
In one sickening moment all that began to shimmer, as if it had been a reflection in water and someone tapped the bowl. Her body spasmed, and she felt torn in every direction, soul free and electrified with energy.   
  
She fell for who knew how long. Cordelia felt nothing in this void, no arms, legs, anything. Her soul was tugged into an invisible current, a charge of gunpowder than needed to go off. Everything was fragmented, harsh and rigid, then soft and fluid again. Reality opened to greet her, the darkness and warmth strangely familiar.  
  
Feeling the tug of flesh, her body crying out to her, a force tugging at her. Her soul wanted to be anchored, but it was too soon. Thoughts, ideas, words floated around her, the world shifting into focus. Flung too far back, she watched herself escape from the sewers, walking. How the darkness coalesced, forming the shape of a cruel killer.  
  
Now, now, she screamed, and wishing for the compliance of her born vessel, Cordelia pushed herself into the shattered image, for this was the moment that could save Angel's life.  
  
Fingers, ghostly, tendrils of energy touched the painting of her life ending, and could not enter, a barrier in between her goal.  
  
She had a soul there, and could not take another one in.  
  
Cordelia could only watch in horror, watch her Angel loose his life yet again. She mourned when he hit the ground, watched her throw herself on Angel, shielding him from harm, body heaving with apprehension and dread.  
  
Cordelia was lost.  
  
And in pain.  
  
How. How am I supposed to do anything? I can't, she cried, feeling another presence. It was the souls of the dead, calling out to her, tugging at her faintly with cold tendrils. Cordelia pushed them away, a soft cloud being lifted, which would grow, she knew, until thunder would strike and she'd be dead. Permanently. Cordelia was in limbo, she recalled Wesley saying once, between worlds.  
  
Time passed, and she felt Angel's heart break along with her own when he told Cordelia not to mourn for him. The images replayed for the second time in her mind, and all of it, the bitter taste of defeat was sickening and saddening.  
  
He reached up to touch her-  
  
That hadn't happened. This was. this was different!  
  
- "With time passing and trying to venture in, things may have the possibility to change. Variations, Cordelia. There's a small chance, but it may happen" -  
  
The world opened up to her then, a hole in the fabric of fragmented reality that bound her, opening, yawning before her. Cordelia focused, and felt herself flow into that opening, wishing beyond hope, the darkness fading away, slipping, giving her courage.  
  
The vibrations of slipping through encased every fiber of her being, moving formlessly. Through Angel, only for a moment. The pain there, mentally, physically, but it was all to brief as she.  
  
She fell into herself.  
  
Two souls collided, merged, on the same wavelength but separated by days. They exchanged information, hopes, ideas, like two friends who bumped into each other. So quickly, in a flash, melting and shifting into one. Her eyes opened wide, and there was Angel, looking up at her, eyes half shut._  
  
"Angel." Holding her breath, trying, damn it, anything, thinking, not wanting him to die. Those fingers went up and clasped his own, blood sticky and flowing into the palm of her hand. The liquid covered her palm, Cordelia 's other hand pressed fingertips gently on his brow as she leaned, hoping against hope even as the tears started to fall.  
  
Cordelia told him she loved him. She would always love him.  
  
Then, Angel died.  
  
Again.  
  
Burrowing her head in her arms, Cordelia groaned, heart ready to burst. This all was too much for her, too wrong for her. Seeing him again, watching him die twice. If he had never gone on that stupid mission- No, if she had kept her big mouth shut, then none of this would have ever-  
  
"I know."  
  
He woke.  
  
"What- Angel? But - you died!"  
  
"I did," Angel admitted, head nodding lazily in agreement. "And you can be sure I won't die again."  
  
Her mind and body were disconnected then, but not by magic, by the sudden shock of Angel speaking, those eyes dark and light at the same time, boring holes into her brain, engraving the image there for all eternity. Still clenched to his own hand, her fingers squeezed, and Cordelia, the seer, the young woman with a sordid past and an actress with a bitchy reputation, both, and yet not fully either, kissed Angel with a ferocity that was unimaginable.  
  
It was all ending around her, and the room faded to white.  
  
*  
  
The room was conservatively decorated, sconces lit, mauve walls homey and earthy. It was different from all the other rooms, in it's own way. So many things had come to pass in these hollowed walls, so many ideas carried out, conversations being held. The lighting was dark, but not too foreboding, not dark enough to ward people off.  
  
The owner of the room knew plenty well how to do such a thing.  
  
Cordelia Chase rose from her position, sitting up, hair tangled, clothes twisted. She unconsciously pulled her shirt around the midsection to line up correctly, before grasping her ankle. The bed was so inviting and comfortable, new sheets starched and smelling fresh.  
  
A moment, an eternal span of two seconds, and Cordelia rose her arms to touch her hair. Short, a little higher than her shoulder. That blonde color, so different than the rich dark brown he smelled preciously a year before.  
  
"Mmm."  
  
Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, Cordelia could feel a body move next to her. Legs tangled in the soft sheets that she now kicked aside, viewing Angel to her left, curled up and resting on his side.  
  
Angel.  
  
.Angel?  
  
Her mouth worked, but no sound would follow. Cordelia tried again, no avail, instead grabbing his arm and shaking him awake. "Angel!"  
  
Those eyes opened, head lazily turning to view her. It was as if he took in the sight of her for the first time, cogs turning in his mind before he jerked back. Angel sat up abruptly, backpedaling and nearly falling off the edge of the bed, instead settling for smacking those firm back muscles against the headboard.  
  
The dark eyes were the same, jaded, mouth set in a line as lips parted, disbelieving.  
  
"_What_ just happened?"  
  
She hesitated, moving to him, a beat, then again, hugging him tightly. She loved the firmness of his chest, those muscular, not thin arms wrapping around her in response.  
  
"Cordy." He made her heart sing. "You. Do you remember?"  
  
"I remember-" She sniffed, burying her head in the crux of his neck and shoulder. "You. Thank God. But it lingers, you know?"  
  
"It always lingers," Angel told her softly, not saying anything about the fictional months with Buffy. They didn't exist. His memories were fading, giving way to Los Angeles and its people in need of help.  
  
"Angel." Cordy trailed off, pulling away from him. She stared at him, an organism under a microscope. Noticing her stare, Angel pulled his head back, feeling an imaginary blush to his cheeks.  
  
He looked so innocent, devoid of the pain and anguish present-had it been days, minutes. had it ever happened?  
  
"Am I. How bad is it?" Angel ventured.  
  
"Well. Your brow's a bit.. extended." Taking a breath to keep the dams from flowing, Cordelia finished, "And.the rest of you. It's not bad at all. It's perfect!"  
  
Trying to move as fast as possible, Cordy threw her arms around Angel's neck again, kissing every inch of his face. Her fingers tangled in his short, spiky hair, his hands touching the small of her back, a smile of relief appearing on his face.  
  
"Although the hair was kinda nice."  
  
"No it wasn't."  
  
"Yes it was." Her voice was low and smoky, pointer finger twirling a gelled strand. "What about me?"  
  
"It - tickled."  
  
"Oh. right." The memory of their lovemaking stung, fresh in each other's minds. Even in the other reality, a harsher one, she still loved him. And it was that love that kept them together, that kept them sane. So much pleasure and pain poured out of them into the activity, and here. now. There was a thing called 'the curse'. Try as they might, breaking it, toying with it, walking the line of flesh and torment would be good for no one.  
  
_Face it, Cor. Your sex life sucks._  
  
He pulled away this time, a serious look.  
  
"Connor."  
  
They both leaped up and bolted to the crib, seeing the emptiness of the white blanket there.  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
Angel turned, seeing Cordelia already at the door. She tried the knob, but it wouldn't budge an inch.  
  
"It's locked," Cordelia stated. He moved over to the door. "Break the thing."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I've broken enough hotel property for a century in jail, of which I 'm likely to survive, so I don't want to be open to that thought."  
  
"Cord." Angel brushed her aside, wrenching the door open.  
  
"The perfect gentleman."  
  
They moved into the hallway together, walking down to the staircase. It was all here, the hotel, the furniture, wallpaper. Cleaner than before, no cobwebs due to lack of energy given to clean it. Her fingers laced with his own, and they were moving down the staircase. The glow of light radiating from the ceiling and office made it seem so much brighter. Cheery, even.  
  
Hopeful.  
  
One by one, heads turned. That shy girl with the mildly southern drawl, her fingers flicking to amuse the baby there, who gurgled, opened and closed tiny fists in response. She was beautiful, long hair down, and the name came to Angel easily. Fred. Fred who turned, Gunn near her shoulder, moving to the counter. Strong arms lifted an axe casually, placing it on the surface. He was there, that bright smile and good heart. Wesley, with his textbooks, glasses, and that scholarly look of his.  
  
"Oh my God. Wesley - they're awake!"  
  
Angel and Cordelia moved to them, the other members of the Fang Gang happy, jovial, and relieved. Wesley clapped a hand on Angel's back, Fred hugging Cordelia while Gunn smiled.  
  
"Good to see you guys again," Angel said, a small smile. He relinquished his hold on Cordelia's fingers, broke the physical connection, the solidness of everything reassuring him that she would not get away. She would not leave. She would stay with him.  
  
Even if.  
  
Pressing gently on the small of her back, Angel escorted Cordelia into the office. They sat, side by side, across Wesley's desk, smooth, easy.  
  
It was so hard to digest.  
  
"We were wondering if - when you two would wake up again," Gunn began, looking jazzed. He seemed to be like that, more energized, now that Angel was here. And Cordelia. Without her visions, Angel's stubbornness, business had come to a standstill. They needed them, in more ways than one.  
  
Cordelia pulled her legs up, holding her ankle. She watched Fred move to the coffee machine, smiling pleasantly. "It wasn't easy."  
  
"You already know what happened? The Temsik demon.." Angel trailed off, Wesley turning from the counter with a load of books in his arms, one opened to reveal a wood cut painting of one such demon.  
  
".I - gathered," Wesley said feasibly, glancing to Fred briefly before plopping the books on the desk. Fred moved to Cordelia and gave her a cup of coffee, Cordy touching her shoulder in thanks. Touching the bridge of his nose, Angel looked down, up again to Gunn.  
  
"You weren't there - did they try coming here?"  
  
"Nah. But we gathered from some of Wesley's contacts that Wolfram and Hart planned this for months. Sorta like a side order of mayhem," Gunn drawled, eyebrow raised.  
  
"Did they - Connor. Connor. Where is-?"  
  
Angel stopped mid sentence, Gunn moved to reveal Connor's bassinet, the baby cute as ever. Kicking and squirming in that adorable way babies possessed. Quickly, Angel's mind worn body carried him to his son, peering down at him. And for the first time, it seemed, in so long, but not really, Angel smiled brightly, eyes half open.   
  
"Connor missed his daddy, didn't you Connor?" Fred asked, trailing a finger along the edge of the bassinet. Grinning, she watched Angel moved to pick Connor up, only he hesitated, retracting his hands. Hands that grabbed the edge of the counter, and he staggered back, turning away.  
  
Dark eyes fluttered, everything falling so hard and heavy.  
  
"Angel," Cordy began, eyes wide. His name came out in a gasp, fingers weak and trembling. Just as the coffee mug hit the floor and shattered, Angel followed suit, falling.  
  
The world went white and red, then became painted black.  
  
*  
  
"How are they?"  
  
"They'll be fine, Fred."  
  
Fred leaned, peering into Angel's room. The lighting was low again, and she saw Angel in his bed, resting. Pulling back, Fred turned to Wesley, who idly flipped through a thin, leather bound book in his hands.  
  
"Are you sure? What if - what if it's permanent brain damage, Wesley? They didn't wake up before, and they're asleep again." In that curious, yet frightened way of hers, Fred stared at Wesley, mind leaping with logic and reason.  
  
He shook his head, and gave her that warm, reassuring smile that she liked. "They've been through a lot, Fred. The sudden unexpected reemergence into reality, from the long coma-like state they were in, well, it would certainly shock anyone's system, even a vampire and half-demon's."  
  
It seemed so odd to refer to Angel and Cordelia that way, to think of past times, and the present.  
  
"They'll wake up soon. And then we will talk."  
  
He left then, leaving Fred alone at Angel's door. She took a few steps forward into the room, angle of sight allowing her to see the body lying next to Angel, Cordelia, her fingers curled, resting on the pale skin of Angel's chest.  
  
And she waited.  
  
Continue on...   



	8. Chapter 19

  
**Title: **If There Never Was   
**Author: **Ignited   
**Posted: **03-11-2002   
**Rating: **R for language and sexual situations   
**Email: **Ignited   
**Content: **Romance, Drama, Angst, AU-ish   
**Summary: **One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind…   
**Spoilers: **Everything up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of speculation here.   
**Disclaimer: **The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.   
**Distribution: **Disharmony, List archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!   
**Notes: **This has been sitting in my computer since June, at least. Along with two other fanfics that I planned to write, but unfortunately have no time to put real thought into them. So, this is a combination of three different ideas. With the emergence of _Vanilla Sky_, a similar but distinctly different story, I decided to finally complete this minor story, of which has turned into a full fledged monstrosity of a fic. It's my seriously screwed up and basically nothing alike, take on _Vanilla Sky._ Open minds are required, please…   
**Dedication: **To Steffi and Kath– for always believing in me, plus generally being helpful, caring, and showing good input. And to Melissa and Christie, who are fic goddesses and great friends. This one's for you.  
**Part 10 Dedication:** To Greenie, 'cause I'll miss him dearly!   
**Part 20 Dedication:** It's over. First things first, I have to thank Steffi and Kath for putting up with my ramblings, as well as Melissa, C/A fic goddess extraordinaire and Emma, goddess of C/A screenshot-y goodness for helping too. I cannot begin to thank everyone who has read and given feedback: your words and wishes, as well as threats were happily received and heart warming. I love all the comments dearly. They motivated me despite constant obstacles. Once again, I cannot promise there will be any more stories from me in the future, although another remake of a favorite movie looms… But I'd rather finish it, or at least half before I post it. Also, you will be able to find some goodies in the end. Once it's checked and scrutinized, this'll go onto the lists. Onto the end of this massive story!   
**Feedback:** I am a feedback junkie, so make me high.   


* * *

**Part 19**

_Just one step at a time  
And closer to destiny  
I knew at a glance  
There'd always be a chance for me  
With someone I could live for  
Nowhere I would rather be  
  
Is your love strong enough  
Like a rock in the sea  
Am I asking too much  
Is your love strong enough?  
  
Just one beat of your heart  
And stranger than fantasy  
I knew from the start  
It had to be the place for me  
Someone that I would die for  
There's no way I could ever leave  
  
- Brian Ferry, Is Your Love Strong Enough  
_  
  
*  
  
The Los Angeles wind blew over the pavement, sending swirls of dust, stray fliers in the air. Printed black on hot pink paper, the dance club flier whipped and pinned itself against the tire of the black Plymouth GTX convertible.  
  
The slam of a car door, the ignition turned on, and soon the flier was rolling along again, car backing up.  
  
Pulling away from the curb, Angel turned the radio on. He never turned it on for himself, only when Gunn or Cordy asked him, usually after a night of demon slaying. The thoughts of camaraderie, the hugs and sarcastic scowls during those times made him feel nostalgic. Before he had his friends, in Sunnydale… The only thing he would've been greeted with seemed to be a night of lonely reading or lurking.  
  
So it was on now, playing something along the lines of rock, and Angel did not bother changing it.  
  
Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he flexed his hand, glancing at the back of it. The knuckles were mildly bruised, the marks fading away. After he had backhanded Lilah quite roughly, it left a mark. It was amusing to see that sneer, that startled look when he returned.  
  
She honestly didn't expect him to return from that 'wretched version of his life'. He did. Didn't exactly kick her ass, but considering the nasty bruise he gave her, it was good.  
  
The clawed hand of the Temsik demon, driven into her desk with a knife in the center, would make a nice paperweight.  
  
After all, the visit left him feeling all warm inside.  
  
*  
  
**A Few Days Before**  
  
It had been decided that he, Wesley, and Gunn, would return to the scene of the crime after he woke up from his long rest. Cordelia was still sleeping then, her skin fiery, her breathing controlled. He had gently moved the blanket to cover her, kissed her forehead, and then went downstairs. The apparition that appeared as Wesley explained a lot, the whole occurrence as related by Angel leaving them all unsettled.  
  
"So… what happened?" Angel had asked, nursing a glass of blood to fight off the weak feeling, the lump in his throat. "I feel like I've been hallucinating for who knows how long."  
  
"You returned from the lair, as we all saw," Wesley began, clicking the mouse on the computer. Gunn leaned back in his chair with a sigh, resting his chin on a palm. "Cordelia was already waiting here, watching over Connor, asleep. When Fred woke up the next morning, she heard Connor crying. And judging by the embarrassment on her face, she was afraid to go in, and… find you both—"  
  
"Doin' the freaky deaky," Gunn supplied, getting a glare from Wes.  
  
Angel raised an eyebrow, waiting for Wesley to continue.  
  
"Connor hadn't been fed that night. Normally you sleep during the day hours, but with all that strenuous fighting, you must have been more tired than usual," Wesley said, getting a nod from Angel. "Fred tried to wake up both of you, but it just would not happen."  
  
Gunn straightened in his chair. "We hit the books. Tried figuring out if you two had been drugged, or something like that. Nothing. Called up Wesley's friends. We found out about something them layers been plannin' to do for a while."  
  
"Even in the alternate reality, Wolfram and Hart ruled," Angel muttered, feeling the icy edges of metallic cuffs around his wrists and ankles, memories biting into reality. Cold traces of metal that lurched, slammed up and forward, the agonizing, horrible pain of facial fractures fading away.  
  
"So it wouldn't be too much of a problem for them to burn the city, with me in it. They wanted me dead. Or, close to it." He sighed. "Sure, they set off the fires, even with a city of potential clients. On a grander scale though…"  
  
"…Getting rid of the champion for the Powers meant more than mere money and power. It would solidify their quest for domination," Wesley finished, frowning.  
  
Nodding, Angel stood up, brushing the rim of his glass with his thumb. He glanced to the staircase, vanilla and wiped tears assaulting his senses and memories of Cordelia. Long hair juxtaposed against the shorter, blonde streaked cut, the seductive grin faded to a trusting smile.  
  
"…I'll let her sleep," Angel said aloud, turning to Wesley and Gunn. "You two up for some cleaving?"  
  
"The things we talk about," Gunn said wistfully, getting up to go to the weapons cabinet.  
  
Those things indeed.  
  
*  
  
Fred leaned forward, picking up the discarded shirt Angel left on the foot of the bed. She didn't want to bother him or Cordelia, since they were both a little jazzed, a little tired, a little bit wacky about the whole thing. She remembered the frown that appeared on Cordelia's face when she woke up, leaning on an elbow and touching her right temple.  
  
"Fred…" Cordelia took in a sharp breath then, the dark colors of the bed and room lending color to her eyes and streaks. "Where's – Angel?"  
  
Standing at the side of the bed, as she had been that hour, Fred remembered being startled. She had sat down when Cordelia patted the bed surface, her eyes wide in that innocent look of hers.  
  
"He went out." Fred gestured erratically, a throwaway kind of mannerism she had picked up when explaining things. "Out… to go kill somethin'."  
  
"The…demon…" Cordelia yawned, brow furrowing. She seemed to be lost, almost as lost as that time when she woke up pregnant, as Wesley had told Fred about the experience. Cordelia looked around again, trying to shake off the bedtime fuzzies. "Connor?"  
  
"Asleep."  
  
She sighed, trying to muster a smile. "You didn't have to watch over me."  
  
"Are you all right?" Fred blurted, regretting it immediately after she asked. She paused, considering and analyzing while waiting for Cordy's answer.  
  
"As much as a person who has had the contents of her head scraped and mucked around with like a tub of ice cream after a bad break-up." She sat up. "That reminds me. I'm hungry."  
  
Fred moved up and back when Cordelia stood, picking her robe up in one sweep of the hand. Her tanned skin brushing against the material, Cordelia moved to the dresser nearby. In a chair a large canvas bag had been left there, clothing materials poking up from the mouth of the bag.  
  
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Fred turned to look down while Cordelia changed her clothes. The setting was intimate, Cordelia's fingers flicking over discarded items. Fred then went on about how much she missed Angel and Cordy, the words 'incessant rambling' clearly in her dictionary and used to their highest potential.  
  
Haunted, thin, and full of emptiness, Cordelia paused, zipping up her jeans. Her hands felt soft and weak, tired and achy, picking up a shirt… towel … hairpin. In bag. Slow. Slowly. She put them in.  
  
Angel came to her mind, draped in black, leaning forward and if she looked hard enough, to one side. Black faded as dark brown came into view, jacket lengthened into a duster. Pale features were there; ravaged by accidents, pain, anger… love.  
  
Remembering what it was like to participate in brutal fights was not too hard. It was kissing him, holding him, being with him and in him that made it all much more worse. She remembered Angel's face, his lips and eyes, the features of a marble statue brought to a painful life.   
  
The smile fading away into darkness, the anger that overtook him when he reached out to kill one demon, another. The swarm overtook him, plaster falling down from the ceiling. She screamed his name in surprise, and in pain, trying to reach out to him at that dance club. He fought valiantly during that scuffle, even though his physical disabilities could surely impair his fighting abilities.  
  
But they didn't. He survived.  
  
Kissing him, participating in the act of love with him was so different from the blinding reality of normal, high speed Los Angeles. LA, with miles of sewers, hundreds of warehouses and buildings where the dead, the evil slept and killed. The same warehouses where they... they were waiting and—  
  
The vision floated into her consciousness, no pain, just the floating feeling of being the voyeur. Watching, seeing the scaly skin of demons, the grinning and twisted maws. The sheer, ecstatic glee came across demonic visages, watching the struggling and disfigured Angel fall deeper into darkness, faded in an ethereal portal. The point of view lifted, pulled back to show an abandoned warehouse, two levels. In the center to one side there was a huge wooden staircase, like a display almost. She prayed, and it came true, the numbers floating in.  
  
They were there. The Temsik demons.  
  
Cordelia turned around.  
  
"Is there anything left in the weapons cabinet?"  
  
*  
  
Angel shifted his position, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. He decided that Gunn and Wesley would try out some contacts, any mentioning of the Temsik demons hideout. This kind of event would be avenged, not left to the winds. No. He owed it to Cordelia, to Wesley and Buffy, Faith, Spike, everyone. He didn't want anything of the sort happening again.  
  
And even though he felt greedy about thinking it, shamed and selfish almost, he didn't want to see that horrible reflection again. Lorne had mentioned the lack of moral ambiguities in Pylea, how Angel liked being the Champion without the checks and balances. Yes, it was nice at the time. It would have been nicer to walk with _her_ in the sunlight instead. But this world, this reality they survived was not like that. It was worse. So very, very worse.  
  
He flipped the worn pages of a dusty book with a maroon cover, glancing past the stack of books nearby. The supernatural bookstore was open at these late hours, and he knew the kind old bookseller. Looking past the rows of books, tables, Angel could see across the street. Streaky pop culture, rain, slick black pavement and washed away dreams greeted dark eyes.  
  
Rubbing the back of his neck, Angel looked down at the book surface. A passage on alternate realities was there, a lithograph of a demon. It gave the general demon hideout description: dark places, away from prying eyes and light, warehouses, sewers, and so on. Vague as usual. He knew Wesley and Gunn would find something. They had to.  
  
He had to find something for her.  
  
Tired shoulder muscles strained, Angel leaned back in the firm wooden chair, flipping a few pages. He paused for a beat, and then turned back. Furtive brown eyes scanned the pages quickly, mouth parting.  
  
"That's – it. That's it!"  
  
In one fluid motion he closed the book, picked up his jacket and left the bookstore quickly.  
  
*  
  
"We're not goin' anywhere with this, Wes."  
  
Gunn sighed, hefting his custom made battle axe. He and Wesley had been traveling for hours, searching for information. From Caritas to the Asian district, they'd run the gamut of their contacts, finding nothing. Only a scrap of paper and a list of 'suspicious looking' places they already had.  
  
Greaaat.  
  
"Not to worry. We'll find something. We'll find it," Wesley replied tersely, nodding his head towards the warehouse building in front of him. It was worn and abandoned, but the front resembled more like a theater than an actual warehouse building. He'd seen it before, Wesley knew, driving by, but now it seemed cold and dead. Evil.  
  
A moment passed, the earnest Brit trying to recollect his senses before starting off to the building in a quite ducking, pausing and leaping style. Raising an eyebrow, Gunn could picture Cordelia saying plainly, "he's got issues."  
  
"James Bond eat your heart out," Gunn muttered, following suit. Wind whipped and flared, dark night, he let himself be taken into it. Concentrating, believing that if he could take them out, the pain would lessen. The pain would not reach out with icy tendrils and envelop those people he grew to care about. Fred. Wes. Angel. Cordy.   
  
A cat screamed, and then Cordelia Chase slunk out of her position near some garbage cans and into the warehouse alone.  
  
*  
  
Throwing the folder on the desk, Fred sat back in the chair across from the laptop. She sighed dramatically, looking about. They had all left her there, alone to hold down the fort. Watch over Connor. As if reading her mind, he kicked contentedly, the way babies do. Fred reached into the bassinet placed a foot away on the desk, cooing and waving her fingers. The monitor seemed to be studded with interesting shapes and dots; either that or she was hallucinating. Fred moved the mouse, the numerous Internet Explorer windows coming into place. All with huge amounts of text, dark background and red letters blending to form a cacophony of demonic ideas upon her eyes.  
  
Uselessness crawled into her movements, her tone of voice. Everyone was out doing their part, the muscle, brains, heart, the champion… And where was she? Stuck at home watching over a baby.  
  
'No results found.'  
  
The phrase came up quite frequently when searching for Temsik demons. Besides the fact that the idea of searching for supernatural beings on the Internet seemed a bit duh worthy… but hey, it was possible. Just think about those message boards. Fred shivered, looking over at Connor.  
  
"No luck, Connor. Hopefully, your daddy'll find somethin'," Fred told the infant with a smile, and right at that moment, the phone rang. Fred jumped, eliciting a waving of tiny hands from the baby before she ran to the phone. Clutching the handset for dear life, Fred spoke. "Hello?"  
  
"Fred." Angel. "Cordelia there?"  
  
Her heart beat slowed from the fever pitch, and Fred cleared her throat. "Hi Angel. She's um… Cordelia's—"  
  
"Where is she, Fred?" His tone was abrupt, serious. Hearing the faint sounds of horns and cars, Fred guessed he was driving.  
  
"I… don't know?"  
  
Angel sighed, trying to clear his thoughts. Still, it didn't help the fire in his voice. "What do you mean, you 'don't know'?"  
  
Fred blanched, looking at Connor's crib. "She – left? She took off, and didn't—"  
  
"Fred." She knew that voice. That was _the_ voice. The 'grr' face, speak quickly or I'll rip a limb off voice. "Where. Is. She."  
  
"Cordy went to look for the demons. In a warehouse," Fred blurted. Hearing nothing for a second or two after that, she then heard the creative cursing of the vampire.  
  
"Did she happen to tell you where?" Angel sighed once more, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Eyes snapped wide open and he scrambled to turn nearly clipping another car. Not paying attention, listening to Fred give him the address made it all come down quicker, faster upon him. The young physicist had been lucky to pry the address from Cordelia before she left in a hurry, eyes determined, mouth set in a thin line.  
  
_I hope she doesn't get herself killed.  
  
She can't. I won't let her._  
  
*  
  
It was just as she'd seen it. The imposing columns of wood, pale and gray. The dark shadows and bright white patches of moonlight, filtering in from the skylights. Chains hung down, steel pipes running along the ceiling like creepers. Dust settled, rose, blew through the building. Bristling past hollow tubing, the ethereal sound of howling reminded Cordelia of late Halloween nights.  
  
She remembered the ordeal in Sunnydale, how that slip of a cat suit protected her from going schizo. Buffy, Xander, and Willow had all flipped out, the first two more than the latter, although the creepy ghost thing did freak her out at the time. How long had it been? A few years? It felt like a lifetime had passed. So many classes, demons, people had met her eyes. How she'd changed since that stuck up, high school bitch, to... whatever she was now.  
  
A young woman hell bent on revenge.  
  
It was odd, really. She knew that it was best to leave this up to Angel; he would take care of her and make everything right again. He always did. Always. He'd take her in his arms, kiss her tears away, and everything—  
  
No. No. It would never be right again.  
  
The experience, for what it was, had shaken her. Angel, coming out of it all, bruised, battered, _dead_, would feel more pain. Those long nights he had endured, mind and body wracked with visions that pained him so. At least, even when the chips were down and she cried herself to sleep at night because of them, they hadn't been that bad. Nearly going insane, vision side effects, and brain exploding notwithstanding but… They hadn't been THAT bad.  
  
He had been so weak and instead he cared more for her than himself.  
  
A total stranger she was, but even in another life, when they were both so drastically different, there was that… that thing. That kind of connection, she guessed. Cordelia knew that meeting Angel wasn't destiny, fate, and all that kind of crap. It just sort of _happened_. But this was…  
  
Emotionally draining.  
  
So there she was, the interior of the warehouse filtering into her mind and eyes. Wearing a comfortable set of clothing—gone were the tight pants and shirt, now only sensible black jeans and a white jacket remained—Cordelia paused for a beat. She brought a dark black messenger bag, large enough for the crossbow, tazer… amongst other things.  
  
The balcony ran along three sides of the rectangular warehouse, dropping into staircases that lowered onto the raised platform at one end, like giant's arms. It was all so familiar to her, reminding her of the warehouse they'd been in… The Master's lackeys. Buffy, with the bitch 'tude. Yeah.  
  
It was so far back now.  
  
The cries of the hopeless rang through the night, intermixing with the sounds of demons and their guttural language. Ducking down, Cordelia crept through the discarded boxes and junk lying about. Crates were stacked, little aisles threading through them. She slunk between the shadows, fingertips brushing dirty wood. Cordy could hear the sounds of the demons talking, some words in English, most of the words in their own language. Ceiling so far up, darkness and soft light around her, Cordelia frowned.  
  
Trying to think what Angel would do.  
  
No. He wasn't here right now. She was. Not him.  
  
Two fingers struck a match for light, bathing tanned features before she, the seer with a grin on her face, dropped the tiny stick into an open crate.  
  
Flames licked up and reached burning hands towards the night sky and wooden planks above them.  
  
*  
  
Returning to the cold darkness of the Los Angeles nights had been a bit unsettling. Letting it on to the others though, would be no good. One had to remain strong and not show the flaws, the chinks in the armor. Champions had to be like that. Perfect. A shattered remnant of perfection after all the battles remained. So many people, creatures, beings died before the hero's eyes that one felt jaded after all of it.  
  
It is through the eyes and love and compassion of friends, of _family_ that one can find peace with the world. That one can ignore the insecurities, the unholy passion of man in his unintended quest for glory through the worst means possible. This is not a generalization, no; it is merely a reflection of the common enemy: from the highest, strongest demon, to the young and naïve lackey… they all seek glory.  
  
And it is the champion's job to stop them.  
  
"Feels too long since… Everything's been normal." Roll down the window, and one can view the skyline. The people, the city, brimming with life and intrigue, death and stillness.  
  
The car door slammed, hurried steps taking the fighter to the destination. To stop the savagery, to mend broken wounds. And in the process, mend their own, the kind of wounds that were invisible, only felt like stinging paper cuts on the surface of the heart.  
  
Because someone had to.  
  
*  
  
Charles Gunn didn't like long introductions. He figured no one that he knew did, really. 'Cept for those movie stars, royals and all that. He'd gone with Wesley down the list, and it was in a furtive call by Fred—hope she was okay, poor girl sounded worried—that they knew where to start looking for demons. The kind that twisted reality into shambles, the kind that made Angel "all stoic-y"—Cordelia's words—Wesley thoughtful, Fred curious, and Gunn damn near pissed off.  
  
He was angry because of what they'd gone through. And from the vague description Wesley had said—"another reality, one in which everyone was lost and in pain"—Gunn wanted some answers. Fast. Or else there would be some ass kickin'. Huh… Regardless of the answers, he'd kick some demonic booty anyway. He had a hankering for it tonight.  
  
Standing near his ride, the truck he used for so many nights fighting vampires, Gunn rubbed a cool hand over his scalp, sighing. It had been a long night already, an even longer day awaiting them. Angel was reserved, ever since he woke up in utter confusion. He came back to the real world, collapsed, rested again. Saw Cordelia there, how her fingers curled around his bedsheet. He kissed her forehead, whispering everything would be all right again.  
  
How could he say that? Gunn didn't understand Angel… But he—he just _got_ him, you know? Like an unspoken truce. Sorta.  
  
Okay, nothing had happened to Gunn. Not really. He didn't remember anything going on. He had to admit though, just sitting around, readin' textbooks, or going to places for info left him uneasy. Wesley was the leader and all, but it wasn't the same. Angel brought them all together on this mission. Cordelia and Wesley from Sunnydale.  
  
Fred from Pylea.  
  
Gunn owed it to Angel. He really did.  
  
"Is this it?" Gunn asked, picking up the battle axe from the cargo area of his truck. Wesley frowned nearby, squinting as he looked up at the exterior of the warehouse. The leader of Angel Investigations had a broad sword in his hand, sheath strapped to his back. Rough around the edges, Wesley looked back to Gunn again.  
  
"We'll have to look and see." Wesley shrugged after Gunn gave him a sarcastic look. "I don't happen to have a Temsik compass on me."  
  
"You with the demon humor? Not a good combination," Gunn advised. That deadpan expression from Wesley followed, before Gunn nodded to the building. "Let's go have a look."  
  
He started off for the building, but Wesley did not follow. Instead, the English man looked worried.  
  
"What's up, Wes?"  
  
"Something isn't right," Wesley responded. He bent down, wiping a thumb and forefinger to the ground, and then lifting them to give it a sniff.  
  
Gunn nodded. "You damn sure somethin' ain't right here. This place is full of bad juju."  
  
"Bad what?"  
  
"Never mind." Pointing at Wesley's hand, Gunn raised an eyebrow. "Get anything"  
  
"Besides the obvious demon ordinary," Wesley drawled, standing up. "There's a takeout down the street."  
  
"You buyin'?" Gunn started walking into the warehouse, Wesley by his side.  
  
"If they'll pack those little fortune cookies, then yes."  
  
*  
  
Stepping up to the… crate, Cordelia waited for two demons to lazily drift over to her position, talking like they were at a water cooler. If there was one thing she didn't get, it was demons chit-chatting. Even after all she'd seen. Freaked her out. Weird.  
  
The fire was burning quickly, but towards the back and hard to be seen. There was so much wood though, so it would spread quickly, she hoped.  
  
She really did.  
  
It was suddenly, scarily dark in the warehouse, dawn not far off. Cordelia could picture Fred's pleading for her to stay in the hotel. Just like the Billy incident. Fred was strong, Cordelia knew, strong in _certain_ things. The girl had a great head on her shoulders—too great, as apparent by the near beheading she went through for some demons—but when it came to certain things, she didn't know what to do. Fred may have been older than Cordelia, but those long years spent hiding in a cave were surpassed in terms of getting to know the demonic world, as Cordelia did at Sunnydale High School.  
  
What a bitch she had been, and so proud of it. The head cheerleader. The "it" girl. Those snarky, hurtful comments had left the recesses of her mind now, and only the athletic grace of the cheerleader remained.  
  
One, two, the leg and stance perfectly balanced, before whipping to kick the crate she'd push a little over the edge before. It tumbled down, overturning. Barely a "what?" came from the demons before wood shattered on them, rendering them unconscious under the planks and contents: antiques.  
  
Restricting the phrase of triumph that would echo from her lips, Cordelia decided to slink away instead, hearing the raised voices and inquiries spreading like wildfire.  
  
"What was that noise?"  
  
"I don't know. Something fell."  
  
"Go check."  
  
The two words made her freeze, brown and blonde streaked head popping up over the edge of boxes stacked fourteen feet high to look for the source. The voice was unmistakable, if only just a few words.  
  
It was that… that thing.  
  
That particular Temsik demon that unraveled and twisted time to suit his pleasures. Whose brother may have been around, hiding. Lurking. Some… thing…  
  
Careful not to slip and fall, Cordelia climbed down from the high boxes. It was like a maze, the warehouse large and both …empty at the same time. It seemed too much like the one Angel and Wesley snooped around in, right after that Drokken, or whatever it was had slipped from Pylea through a portal and nearly ravaged Caritas.  
  
Pylea. Where she had been whisked away to and where Angel had gone to hell and back to save her.  
  
Fingers were firm on the crossbow she wielded, eyes narrowed… waiting, waiting.  
  
SHHHH—THUNK!  
  
Two bolts sailed through the air, pinning one demon to a wooden column, right through his throat. The ugly maw grinned, tongue flashing as it tried to wriggle free and became silent. Its brother wasn't as lucky—if one could call such a thing lucky—since the arrow nailed him in the eye. Literally.  
  
Unfortunately, the resounding howl from the demon snapped scaly hides into ramrod positions, one barking out "There's a fire" before the others howled in agreement.  
  
_Well, duh._  
  
Cordelia jumped down again, reaching the cold stone floor, solid under her feet. She dashed to her right, keeping to the shadows of the crates just as a small group of the Temsik demons moved past her. The stench was unnerving, seeing them up close just as hard. But she knew it was them—damn well remembered that…  
  
"There's someone over there!"  
  
"Kill them! Immediately!"  
  
Doing a half turn and roll, Cordy set herself straight, crouching. She was just about to leap up and get the hell out of there when it hit.  
  
The earthquake.  
  
"Oh sh—"  
  
*  
  
The ground rolled, fissures and cracks spreading, dust falling down. Wesley and Gunn stumbled, broken from their silent entry into the warehouse. Staggering to the exit doorframe was no easy task, but after learning the hard way, they weren't about to be crushed because of not paying attention. Gunn shouted something unintelligible to his friend, who merely grit his teeth as the crates and contents came falling down around them.  
  
Pipes squealed, fast spurting steam escaping, metal twisting out, down, up. Gunn raised a hand to shield his eyes, moving forward and gesturing to Wesley.  
  
"Come on!"  
  
"Do you want to risk getting your head smashed in?!"  
  
Gunn pointed, Wesley taking the lull in shocking thrusts of the earth to stand near him. Plaster fell, chunks of it and dust, but they could still see. Still see Cordelia narrowly avoid getting hit by a falling box, burned black. Still see the flames moving faster now, the air tinged orange and shimmering. Watch the athletic grace of the former cheerleader as she snap kicked one demon, pushing another over the balcony to watch him tumble ungracefully to the ground.  
  
"Cordelia? But she's—"  
  
"With Fred," Gunn finished, frowning. The building stopped rumbling s much as before, fragmented images of Cordy solidifying into her again. She moved down the ladder leading up to the second floor balcony rather quickly, kicking off one clawing demon that tried to grab her. There wasn't too many of them, but the shadows dancing on the walls due to firelight meant more were coming.  
  
"Go! Go!" Wesley shouted, and he surged forward with Gunn into the fray of falling wood and plaster, Temsik demons scattered and angry. They pushed and cut their way through, Wesley's blade cutting, Gunn's axe flashing. The place was a mess now, flames steadily increasing as the cacophony of noises rose.  
  
Wesley felt something slam against his back, soft not hard. He turned, seeing he was back to back with Cordelia, who struggled to load her crossbow.  
  
"What the HELL are you guys doing here?!"  
  
Ah, the ever polite Miss Chase.  
  
Wesley avoided the reaching and slashing claw of one demon, ducking before he popped up again and shoved his sword into said demon's midsection. "Saving you!"  
  
"What he said," Gunn acknowledged, ramming his elbow brutally into one demon's face. It was a total melee, the three surrounded by eight or so demons, hides in dark shades of green, gray, earthy colors. More… and it would be impossible. There were more demons than in the original fight. The original fight that with one tiny wrong decision changed Cordelia's perspective on things greatly.  
  
Changed him, and her heart bled for him.  
  
Cordelia was pissed off. Pissed off Gunn and Wesley had found her and done the thing good guys do: save the damsel in distress. This time, things were different. She was tired of telling Angel not to leave. She wanted to be with him, but in this world of darkness being with him meant accepting him. Accepting the fact that no matter what, life wouldn't be just boring and simple. There would be nice times, yes, but there would be those twisting gut, cry your eyes out times. Cordelia was used to it. She had to be.  
  
In order to be with him, she needed to stay alive. Learn to fight.  
  
Those aching muscles and innuendo charged lessons with Angel had paid off.  
  
Shhh—thunk!  
  
Another bolt met the stomach of one creature, Cordelia lashing out with the crossbow to nail one rotten looking Temsik in the face.  
  
Gunn grinned at her, swiping with the long handle of his custom made axe. "Where'd you learn to—?"  
  
"…Angel?"  
  
Cordelia smacked Gunn's shoulder, pushing him to turn as she fumbled with the damn contraption of a crossbow. He turned, quick enough to see the trail of gasoline about forty; fifty feet away ignite, only for a few seconds. Rapidly, it flew and burn, collided with a soft crash into crates that gave way to an explosion. The blast sounded incredibly loud, searing, Gunn crashing into Cordy and bringing her down. Wesley fell and turned away, shielding himself from the blow.  
  
Flames gave way, parting by the gesture of one hand.  
  
The leader, the Temsik demon who appeared as Wesley before, stood there on the other side of the flames, growling menacingly. Adorned with a belt of trinkets, weapons, seeming to be larger and more brutal than Cordelia had last seen him.  
  
The misshapen, almost reptilian head twisted into a grimace, but no, he didn't look through the flames. He was looking at his side, the fire a dancing flame on the odd tableau.  
  
Clad in the requisite black leather, Angel, vampire faced and grinning, loosely waved a broad sword from strong fingers.  
  
He shrugged, the loose manner reminding her all too well of Angelus.  
  
"Payback's a bitch, ain't it?"  
  
Angel leaped forward in the unnatural style only he perfected.  
  
*  
  
Swinging the sword low, then up in a graceful arc, Angel's blade connected. Blood spurted out like a pump, flinging upwards to splash down on the pavement, the demon roaring in pain. Spots of ruby glittered on Angel's face, and he licked the corner of his mouth quite maliciously while shoving the sword in.  
  
It only went deeper into the demon's shoulder, Angel's imbalance to the creature's advantage, a hand surging down to deliver a crushing blow to the back of Angel's leg. He grunted, falling on his side to twist and kick up into the demon's chin. The head snapped back, the Temsik falling back to grasp at its face.  
  
"You'll pay for that, vampire!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Been there. Done that. Didn't like it much," Angel replied sarcastically, jumping low and using a sweeping kick to take the leader off its feet. The creature went down hard, struggling to get up once more, were it not for the boot that pressed firmly against its neck, pinning the thing down.  
  
Head canted, glimmer of light reflecting off that set of sharp teeth, face contorted, Angel nodded. "Face messed up. Body broken. And man, the outfits? Anyone hear of hello, black?" It tried again, Angel reaching down to punch it in the face, a soft mushy sound. The fires still raged, his friends still fighting. The wounds and damage to the building were getting more numerous now, and it wouldn't be long until—  
  
"You put yourself in that situation," it responded maliciously.  
  
"You put _Cordelia_ in that situation. You took away my _family_. What gives you any right to exist?"  
  
Surging up with renewed strength, the Temsik demon threw Angel off with a rotten grin.  
  
"I exist only to hurt you."  
  
Angel got up quickly to plant a roundhouse to the demon's face. "That's for Cordy!"  
  
The head snapped back again, but the momentum of the punch made the creature move, almost like rubber to snap back at Angel. A snake in demon's clothing, tapered fingers clenched on Angel's wrist, grabbing and pulling his arm up to make the vampire wince.  
  
"You think I'd let you win so easily?" it asked, mouth opening to reveal very long, and very pointy incisors.  
  
Angel grinned back, although in pain from the blow to his leg and other aching. He made a point to show his own set of also long and pointy teeth, reaching in to tear Angel's head off. "Not really."  
  
SHHH—thunk!  
  
The familiar sound of an arrow whizzing through the air greeted Angel's ears, hitting its mark, the demon arching in agony. He roared, flinging Angel like a rag doll to the ground. Through sparkling flames, the warehouse coming down all around them, it could see those little friends of Angel, still fighting on the other side. Wait. One was… missing…  
  
A larger whizzing sound, hollow and metal, swooshed through the air, a flute. A very large, very steely pipe… flute.  
  
The creature turned only to hear the resounding crack of the demon's now broken jaw reverberating through the open area. With a clanging sound, the huge, six foot long, steel pipe swung lazily from the chains on the rack holding it to the ceiling. 'Home Along' gone wrong. It fell to the floor with a good distance, Angel turning from his cramped position on the floor to find the reason.   
  
Cordelia stood towards a wall, ignoring the proximity of flames. She lowered her hand away from the switch, the machinery she had turned on to knock the demon out.  
  
She was firm, too firm even, sweeping low to pick up something, something metallic Angel guessed. Light reflected off it. The demon struggled to get up, bright blood spurting from its mouth.  
  
The 'athletic beauty', the fallen grace coalesced in a broken heart, sending power to weak limbs. The creature's head rose, and her hands, clenching the sword, came down and right to cut its head off.  
  
With an unearthly scream, the headless thing collapsed.  
  
"Cordelia."  
  
Trembling fingers dropped the sword, Angel's sword, now shiny with blood. Cordelia fell to the ground not unlike a rag doll, legs pointing at odd angles, body slumped and strands of hair falling into her eyes. Approaching so slow, careful, Angel moved to her. He didn't want to take too long, as he was well aware that the building was on fire, but…  
  
"Cordelia," Angel repeated, moving down slowly on one knee to take her into his arms. "We have to get—"  
  
"Don't you touch me! DON'T TOUCH ME!" Cordelia shouted, waving a hand to smack him away.. She got up violently then, backhanding him. "Get away from me! You weren't supposed to come! This isn't your fight!"  
  
"Cordelia… Cordelia! Please!"  
  
The soft touch of Angel's hands on her hardened, his hands gripping her wrists. She continued to smack him away, arms flailing. Angel grabbed her arms and she struggled. He pulls her close and wrapped his arms around her keeping her still. She kept sobbing, falling to the ground in a heap with Angel. Strong arms enfolded her into his embrace, and while everything fell down around him, Angel smelled her hair.  
  
It was erratic, inappropriate but it just felt… right. The sense of 'what if?' since returning from the other reality faded away. The feeling of not belonging, not seeing or knowing left Angel. The scent of shampoo, springy and clean aroused him. Brought him back to the ground. Let him know that, despite the battle raging around him, inside him, all would be right. It kept his soul anchored to him, to her, rendered him numb and content. Not enough to extinguish the clash between man and demon, raging inside him constantly.  
  
Angel belonged here. Los Angeles. The Hyperion. With Cordelia, her attitude, tactful sayings and compassion for him and his close friends.  
  
Fighting back the urge to cry himself, Angel instead consoled the sobbing vision girl. Ignorant of the systematic deterioration and swirling puffs of smoke that the Temsik demons became, Angel held her. He held her despite the familiar scent of vanilla and supernatural tendencies above him. He knew his savior, knew her friends, and so on, but they didn't exactly matter. None of them did.  
  
"I am so, so sorry…"  
  
Who said it? No one knew.  
  
Wesley wiped his eyes, staring at where the demons had been. Gunn, inquisitive and tired, looked to his friend for an explanation. "They're connected. The leader… The appointed leader is dead."  
  
He kicked the charred body in front of him, turning it over with his boot. The husk of one of the dark green demons, adorned with almost as much ornaments as the one Angel had been fighting.  
  
"Wounded, he stepped down and his brother, the cause, took control," Wesley surmised. "Let's get out of here."  
  
A terrible creaking sound ran through the echoing building, the foundation, walls and ceiling about to collapse.  
  
All Angel could do was hold her.  
  
*  
  
"That's enough."  
  
"You sure about that?"  
  
"Don't get trigger-happy."  
  
Sighing, Spike lowered the crossbow. He squinted at the planks of wood being consumed, looking over at his companion. Buffy, gripping the railing of the balcony, looked down at Angel. He responded to her from below, nodding before hugging Cordelia tighter. It was odd, seeing them like this. Together. Crying. In pain.  
  
Buffy had rushed over as fast as she could arrange from Sunnydale. Insisting that he be her escort, Spike drove, and was put to good use crossbow-wise as far as Buffy was concerned. Simplified and sleek in her stylish mini trench coat, Buffy watched Angel pick up Cordelia, take her into his arms. He regrouped with his friends, and the four of them made their way out of the warehouse, just as the ceiling began to cave in.  
  
"Let's go home, Spike. Let's go home."  
  
Spike lowered the crossbow, cold fingers lingering on Buffy's arm as he gently guided her out from the balcony exit and down the stairs.   


* * *

**Part 20**

*   
_See the stone set in your eyes  
See the thorn twist in your side  
I wait for you  
Sleight of hand and twist of fate  
On a bed of nails she makes me wait  
And I wait… without you   
With or without you  
With or without you  
Through the storm, we reach the shore  
You give it all but I want more  
And I'm waiting for you…   
With or without you  
With or without you  
I can't live… with or without you  
~ U2, 'With or Without You'_  
  
*  
  
Never one for the easy route, Angel drove his convertible to the curb, dangerous intentions brewing in his mind like a storm. It had taken a while to recover from the state they had been in, explaining the strong fatigue he felt when rising from the long, long dream. No. No. It had been real. Except in this world, he had merely never risen from sleeping. It had been like traveling to another dimension.  
  
The memories of years spent in Hell came to him then, decades had passed there, and yet in Sunnydale only months had passed. It was a cruel twist of fate, to come back, crying and broken to Buffy, only to find she had let go of him, but soon the love returned.  
  
It didn't last.  
  
The blonde Slayer herself had been puzzled as to what happened, Angel had found out when he called her on the phone right after he woke up from that... nap. Tired, arching. She sounded frazzled, confused, and most of all, embarrassed.  
  
"Angel, you and I–"  
  
"I don't remember any of it," he lied.  
  
"Good. Good. How's – Cordelia?"  
  
"She's fine. We're both – fine. How are you?"  
  
"I don't know." Her tone was sad, depressed almost. A muffled sound followed, and Angel could hear Buffy's voice louder, yelling. The muffling was gone, and she spoke again. "Sorry. Dawn was being a pain in the neck, as usual."  
  
The irony of her statement crept into his thoughts, the years of fighting with and against Buffy, loving her, hating her, surfacing. Angel had been a pain in her neck, only quite literally, when he was forced to drink from her to save his own life, the poisoned arrow shot by Faith into his shoulder. Had it been Faith? Were they really the same person? The one who fought side by side with him for more than a year, reckless and strong. Or was she really that confused girl, trained to fight, falling into murder, destroying everything so she wouldn't see her shattered reflection?  
  
Faith. Huh.  
  
"Angel."  
  
"Buffy." He cleared his throat, shifting in his position. "How's Spike?"  
  
Then, realizing the idiocy of that question, Angel clamped his mouth shut, opening it too late to take it back.  
  
"Spike?" Buffy seemed almost incredulous, then her tone relaxed. "He won't get over saving you. It's driving me up the wall. He told me to tell you to remember that. Still the same old… Spike. Chipped, whiney. "  
  
"Figures. Look I—"  
  
"Wait a minute." More muffling sounds, then Buffy's voice came on again. "Angel?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I have to go. Ride's out front. I'll catch up with you later, okay?" Her tone was sympathetic, but also in a rush. Angel said his goodbye, returning the handset to the cradle that he stared at for a long five minutes afterwards.  
  
*  
  
Wesley leaned back in his chair, glancing at the office walls. He flipped a pen over numb fingers, peering over the rim of his glasses to view Connor's basinet. Fred was on the computer again, pushing up her glasses in that - that way of hers, glancing over at Connor and smiling.  
  
She really knew how to smile.  
  
He felt himself sink down even farther into the cowhide.  
  
*  
  
_I wait for you…_  
  
Oh, to drive and drive for all eternity, until the sun scorches flesh and brings the clarity of eternal stillness.  
  
Turning off the ignition, Angel pried off his fingers from the steering wheel. He'd nearly twisted them—like metal, crashing down on flesh—but not enough, not enough to make him give into memories that didn't exist. Instead he focused on the task at hand.  
  
  
He got out of the car, closing his door shut and after coming round, picking up a paper bag filled to the brim. It had taken a while to reach this place, the fault mostly on his part as he had made purchases. The air was clear and pungent with the smell of flowers, of fresh-cut grass that made his heart long for sunny days. Walking up to Cordy's house wasn't the hard part. No, Angel enjoyed the walk, taking note of his surroundings.  
  
It was seeing her outside that made it worse.  
  
There had been a soft mist in the air, one that accentuated details and moisture to his vampire eyes. It would fall, cascade from the heavens. Water fell, the sky crying, rain bathing all available surfaces with its spattering beauty. Angel merely clenched the top of the paper bag closed, tilting his head up, eyes closed.  
  
Droplets of cold water fell on otherwise marble features, defined, silent. It was one of those quiet moments, even as his books, dark black shirt, pants, and the old, familiar duster took him to Cordelia's side.  
  
Her back arched for a moment, arms spreading wide open to let the rain fall in. Locks of blonde and brown were slick wet, eyes closed, mouth curled into a small, very small smile.  
  
She could taste the cold rain on her tongue, watch it fall and disperse amongst the pavement. Those boots were there when hazel eyes followed the drops. It rained harder now, the _shhhh_ sound both harsh and relaxing. The sky was painted black, burnt amber around the edges, traces of the coming morning. It was not too far off, and soon Angel would have to go inside.  
  
Instead he stood by her. Like she did for him.  
  
Cordelia straightened, swallowing down the tears of the firmament, dejected. They did not bring about the release she strived for. The peace she inwardly wanted. They just left her cold and clammy and hungry. Soaked to the bone now, for the rain was pouring harder. Those arms lowered smoothly to grasp onto each other furtively, trying to keep warm. To push away the cold and lock it away, forever.  
  
"It's not too far off."  
  
Angel.  
  
"Day, I mean." He paused. "You're going to catch a cold."  
  
She took this in, and pushing out a breath, responded flatly, "I don't care."  
  
"I'm not going to clean up your tissues," Angel answered. Tissues. It was raining, it was damn cold, and he mentioned the tissues.  
  
Cordelia wanted to sit down, wanted to rest on her couch. To snuggle into the coldness of Angel, place her head at the base of his neck, from which he'd turn down and kiss her forehead. Oh, how she wanted to, but she couldn't. She felt frozen. Alone.  
  
"You know, it's funny. It really is." Cordelia continued to stare at the horizon, at the brilliant sky. "Wesley said—he told me they'd been planning this for months. To do it to you, I mean. Human. You were human. If only for a little while. And I remember it so clearly, while everything else gets dark and fuzzy, you know? I remember seeing you for the first time again, in the bar. The way you looked, acted. And I thought there was something more to you. I didn't know _why_ exactly. All the stuff we went through, the visions, the… walking in on people, I loved you more and more. I didn't like feeling like that at the time. Like I needed someone. It hurts. It hurts, Angel. If I had known Wolfram and Hart were out to torture me again, I would have signed up for more Phantom of the Opera face time instead. I don't know how you did it, Angel. I really don't."  
  
She heard him shift his position, resting his weight on the other boot, the trench coat, his dark black, body bag, shroud.  
  
"Watching you. Seeing you go through all that pain and anger and—sadness. When I got my memory back, I couldn't look at you without remembering that you were warm and alive. You're not that now. You can't be that now. You're not done yet," Cordelia finished, referring to his mission and quest for redemption.  
  
Angel looked to the horizon, seeing, smelling the fiery orb rise slowly into the fading night sky. It wouldn't be too far off. It wouldn't bring the promise of an eclipse, either. The Powers that Be weren't doubly kind.  
  
Taking refuge in the safety of shadows cast near her apartment entrance, Angel watched her. The rain still came down despite the rising sun, sending rivulets and small streams down her arms, legs, back. The flexing muscles, white and thin v-neck blouse wet and sticky, dark gray pants a shade of black from rain.  
  
-- Her dress was pure white silk, with spaghetti straps, reaching just above bare knees. The blinding wind blew down around her, never seeming to touch her. Dress flowing like an angel, the lovely smile present. --  
  
It wasn't a vision. Merely a memory of long lost dreams. He didn't need to dream about her to feel the strong hold she had on him. Displayed now, how he stood outside waiting for her despite the sun threatening with ashes.  
  
Did he have the right to plead with her, when not long ago—three years, a blink of an eye for a vampire—Buffy had been pleading with him to not die? To not wait for the sun to rise on Christmas Day, despite her yelling, despite his sadness? The Powers saved him, and for that, for Cordy, he was glad.  
  
"Cordelia, come inside," Angel pleaded at length, trying to ignore the old need for escape drumming through him.  
  
She didn't listen. She didn't want to listen.  
  
Cordelia cleared her throat and then, in a small voice that only Angel could hear, asked, "Did we do the right thing?"  
  
He looked incredulous after a moment. "What?"  
  
"This." She waved her hand to the street. "Did we? The realities? Is this the one we're meant to be in? Or did we cheat, for ourselves, from the real one, while letting people die and live in the process—"  
  
"Cordy," Angel said softly, his eyes closing for a second. "There's no way to know for sure. But I'll tell you what I think. We did the right thing. If another choice meant losing you again, I couldn't accept that."  
  
"Did we? I mean, the fires—"  
  
"They were out to kill me, Cordelia. They wanted to kill you. Champions, remember? They figured we were meant to die, and would take out everyone, even if it meant clients. That… reality, whatever it was, became a tool for them to do so. It doesn't mean anything, Cordy."  
  
"Angel. I tried to hurt you," Cordelia said at length, brow furrowed.  
  
"And I tried to kill you. Do you think I could stand doing that, now? I'm not Angelus. If I was, you have full permission to kill me. Burn those silk shirts, while you're at it," Angel quipped, but he could see that she found this to be no laughing matter. Cordelia was visibly shaken, rubbing her arms now. The sun still rose, waiting for no one.  
  
He moved to her, very slowly, gritting his teeth. It wasn't like the sun rose immediately, but old senses honed kicked in, screamed wildly. The sun would cast its harsh and bitter light down on him, screaming down and obliterating. Angel grabbed her arm, could feel the dangerous prickling, so soft… soft needles…  
  
Smoke, and he asked her softly, "Cordelia, let's go inside, okay?"  
  
Cordelia hesitated, then complied, falling in line with the familiar trip to her door, it swooshing open with supernatural guidance, and going inside.  
  
Dennis was worried, she could tell. He hadn't seen her for a while. As luck would have it, she missed the cable-surfing phantom.  
  
Angel escorted her inside the apartment, wincing. Guiding her, he left her in the living room area before heading to the dinner table, placing the bag he was carrying down. Combustion avoided. Mental damage in the long road getting there, priceless. Angel felt a sense of deep concern for Cordelia, wishing that her pain would go away. The damage they'd received had been only mental, nothing physical here. They were weary, though. Tired from lying, cheating, kissing, and hurting.  
  
The vampire sighed, eliciting another wince when he stretched to look over at her. Cordy was at his side after carefully controlled steps. Pushing, ignoring his stray complaint, Cordelia felt his side, eliciting another wince from Angel.  
  
She pushed away his trench coat, lifting the dark shirt to view the makeshift bandage.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me you were still hurt?" Cordy asked, and pointing a finger in his face before he could make his rebuttal, followed with, "Take your jacket and shirt off, and go sit on the couch." She raised a pointer finger. "No 'buts'."  
  
Angel closed his mouth, nodding demurely. He did as was told, the shirt-going-over-head thing a bit tricky and oww-inducing.  
  
"Damn… Next time I get into a life or death fight, remind me to wear shoulder pads," Angel called, hearing her shift through items in the drawers of her room. Adding as an afterthought, Angel muttered, "Or possibly chain mail."  
  
Cordelia came back, an eyebrow raised. Hair falling to frame her face in wet wisps, her shirt and pants still wet and dripping, she held the first aid box in her hands. Placing it down on the couch near Angel, she waited for him to turn his side to her, from which she proceeded to clean the reddened wound—claw marks, scrape, it was healing but still a bit bad—despite his flinching.  
  
After what seemed like hours (it had only been a minute, but the stillness of her room was quite deafening), she said, "As long as it's not a jock strap."  
  
Angel laughed. Cordy liked hearing that sound. Almost as much as his heart beating, leaning on his chest and kissing it—  
  
"Angel—"  
  
"I know I had—well, have problems. A lot of them. As you put it before…" He drawled, reminding her of the time she listed the good points and downsides during her 'Fred has a crush on you' speech. "Whatever you've gone through, whatever you'll go through, you know I'd do anything for you, right?"  
  
Cordelia took this in, then after a beat, responded, "No. You're not."  
  
He looked at her, the glimmer of reality, brutal, confusion, clarity in his eyes.  
  
"It's not gonna happen, Angel," Cordy said flatly. "You can't protect me all the time. You can try, you can get hurt, and get others hurt. One of these days you won't be able to save me. And you'll hate yourself for it. I can't let you do that, Angel. Not for me. Not even for Connor."  
  
There was a double entendre in her words, a prophecy so soft and fleeting…  
  
"I won't let anything happen to you. Not if I can help it. I don't care—"  
  
She ripped the bandage off the roll, a sharp, hushing sound. Cordelia proceeded to bandage the wound.  
  
"Don't. I can't let you do this to yourself. You have a mission. Follow it."  
  
His eyes lifted upwards, taking this in before shaking his head ruefully. "In all my two hundred and forty odd years, no one's ever used that approach when they dumped me."  
  
Did she want to leave him? To ensure that he wouldn't be so damn focused on her, that one-track mind of his. The one that got him into the twists and bends, the bound of a seer to a vampire. It was ridiculous. The fate thing came up again, always there. Champions, kye-rumption. Couldn't it be covered in slime, fighting, yelling, innuendo, friendship, and advice instead? Couldn't it be shades of black and blue, cool, sleek, soft pale colors, instead of murky gray, gold and so much red?  
  
Cordy sighed, her fingers pinching accidentally. "I'm not – dumping you."  
  
"You paused for a second. You are," Angel accused, frowning.  
  
"No I'm not. Believe me, I'd let you _know_ if I was dumping you. The old bitch would be back and rearin' to bite people's heads off."  
  
Angel flinched away from her, trying to deflect her ministrations. "…You don't have to lie about it."  
  
"I'm not lying!"  
  
"Yes you are! I know when you—"  
  
"Oh, can we CUT the five year old act, please?!"  
  
"Five year old? Five year old! Two hundred and—"  
  
"Blah blah _blah_! Gee, think you can pull out the damn birth certificate as proof too?!"  
  
Angel stood up abruptly, looking down at her. Cordelia sucked her teeth, holding one end of the bandage tape roll by her thumb and forefinger. He looked a trifle drier than she was, but just because that gel lathered idiot looked more composed than her—save for the icky, gashy wound—did not make the girl back down. Hazel clashed with brown, amber flicks and—  
  
"You're not making any sense, Cordelia."  
  
"Try me!" She hesitated, a breath released, stamping her foot and snapping her eyes shut. "You know what I mean!"  
  
"Cordelia."  
  
"I don't want this anymore, Angel. I don't want to keep hurting 'cause…"   
  
For once, in so long a time, Cordelia Chase was at a loss for words. Taking in a deep breath, she deflated, brushing a hand past her forehead to comb stubborn blonde streaked strands behind her ear. A dismissive gesture and her hand dropped, moving up again to cross her arms in front of her.  
  
"I don't know. I don't know," Cordy repeated, tact and tired.  
  
The look present on his face—gone was the tired and weary, gaunt expression—made those icy walls melt, the furor of expletives in her head building to the sound of denouncing his 'puppy dog' look tactics. Angel followed with cold fingertips trailing down her hand, her wrist after she let her arms hang down at her sides again. Cordelia flinched away, but Angel took this opportunity to grab her wrist, then her waist, pinning her to him.  
  
Cordelia growled, elbowing him. "Stop it. I'm not in the mood."  
  
Angel continued to hold her arm even after she pulled away. If only she had a stake. Or a shoe. A nice pump. Yes, yes, where were they…  
  
"Stop it! Come on, Angel. I mean it!"  
  
"Cordy, please."  
  
Almost in a salsa-like move, Cordelia pulled away only to be pulled back with a spin into Angel's arms. Into Angel's embrace, feeling Angel's lips upon her own. Fidgeting, trying to pull away, the soft touch of hands on her shoulder, the small of her back wouldn't let her go. The pain and severity of alternate lives flowed away, dissolving and slinking down like sticky oil. Ocher and insoluble, the same gunk that crawled down her throat once the body bag pulled away, shifted and fell from her. Outside and in.  
  
The fierce gaze and strong grasp filled her with a semblance of peace, and it was not long before Cordelia kissed him feverishly, his lips, his neck, chiseled features of marble. Angel was hers, perfection in his own way, stillness and glory that picked her up, her legs wrapping 'round his waist for him to plow into a wall. Mouths pulled apart to grin before Angel whipped an arm out to clear the table, the grocery bag falling to the floor but thankfully not overturning.  
  
However, one thing overturned, her chair when Angel kicked it out of the way.  
  
Bullets blazing, screaming, blood, gore, plaster, falling fast and hard. Still kissing, Angel carried Cordelia over to the kitchen table, having swept the stuff on it onto the floor and laying her down on it.  
  
There was no end to the pleasure he received from trailing a line of kisses down her abdomen, her back on the hard surface of the table. Angel scooped Cordelia up again, relishing the soft groans and the heated arousal, just damn it, get to the damn bedroom…  
  
Dark eyes trailed the curves of wet flesh, the see-through shirt going over her head to fall unceremoniously on the floor. His shirt went up, fingers unclasping her bra sheepishly before falling—so soft and slow—onto her bed, collapsing, releasing sighs of oxygen and craving more.  
  
They hadn't even reached the good part yet.  
  
*  
  
The compact lowered, eyes focusing on the reflection. Angel gave her a real shiner all right, and Lilah did the best she could to mask the blemish. The cruel exterior had been marked, reminiscent of being pummeled by that idiot, Gavin. She figured Angel earned it—had the plan been executed flawlessly, his death would be no fun. He figured it all out all right, not going insane in the process. So, he knew what tipped it all off. Punching her out gave him some satisfaction.  
  
"Good for him," Lilah murmured, placing the compact down onto her desk to begin shifting through the stack of papers and folders there. She needed to look good for the meeting that day. It was early, too damn early, barely sunrise. The walls of her apartment seemed to expand outwards, reflecting off sound and wind. In the pile, a folder marked 'Angel Investigations'. A composite profile and full frontal shot of Angel, not from here, from the altered reality.  
  
The one that hadn't been flawless.  
  
No matter. The translators were working hard on the available information they had regarding Angel. New filing cabinets were added every month to Angel's files, and the texts recently translated proved to be interesting, if not vague.  
  
"The Destroyer," she said to no one, tapping a pen on the desk.  
  
The room began to feel cold.  
  
*  
  
The ripping sound of sheets was no match for the gasp that drummed through Angel, body falling down to the surface. The lithe woman pinned him down for a second, a moment to pause and kiss those lovely lips. Touching, neck strained to taste her again, watching muscles flex and stretch, her back arching. She walked along his arm with weak fingers, he cupped her chin and turned her. Angled her so carefully, not to bruise the fragile—in his mind, far from true—woman.  
  
No, she wasn't a little plaything. She was real, bone and veins, laughter spilling from Chap Stick smeared lips. Angel kissed Cordelia roughly, bracing himself against the headboard of her bed. The movements caused the sheets to fall from the small of his back, but by then he didn't care.  
  
He _needed_ her.  
  
Angel had been the perfect picture of domesticity, buying her food, items she needed. It had been days, Cordy was lax, and Angel was concerned. Finding her alone outside her building aroused the striking sense for her, of her, only Angel possessed. Had, wanted, needed her, needing her now to move, oh slightly, there, THERE—  
  
She remembered her fingers tightening on sheets, his hand clamped on a pillow, smothering… soft… death…  
  
"Angel," Cordelia breathed, lids snapping shut to keep the rain from falling, mouth parting to let a full-bodied sigh escape, the climax, the perfection…  
  
*  
  
"Damn."  
  
Turning the Game Boy off, Gunn sighed, throwing it dismally onto the desk. Another lost game/ Cushioned from the fall by the massive amount of papers covering it, the small clatter brought Fred to the present. She was researching, as usual, because Cordelia had another vision earlier. She'd phoned in, her voice flat and unusual. Fred gave her the benefit of the doubt because of all the stuff she'd gone through, but still. It was unnerving, and made Fred nostalgic of the days when things were so less complicated.  
  
Maybe Angel would help her. He sure knew how to complicate things.  
  
"Couldn't find anything yet, Fred?"  
  
Gunn's question snapped her out of the pondering about Cordy funk. Fred shook her head, pushing her glasses up. "Nope. Nothin'. I'll try cross referencing it in—"  
  
"Why don't you two head upstairs for some sleep? I'll handle the details and ask Angel to take care of it, once he gets back," Wesley piped up from his office, crouching near the small cabinet. Gunn leaned forward in his chair as he rose, legs barely able to stand straight. English was right. This was the time before he'd take Fred out for breakfast, and they should be sleeping. He only hoped that the case would be over and done with soon, that way they could take some time off. Maybe head down to the beach.  
  
There was always Vegas.  
  
"Well, we could rack our brains as to where to start, but that's sounding like an even better idea," Gunn drawled, showing that bright flash of a smile. Fred smiled warmly, nodding in return.  
  
The shrill ring of the telephone broke them out of their fuzzies, Gunn still smiling as he walked over and picked it up.  
  
"Angel Investigations."  
  
Gunn nodded, listening to the other end. Soon, his smile faded and he held the receiver at arm's length.  
  
"Wes. It's for you. It's Faith."  
  
Wesley dropped the folder he was holding.  
  
*  
  
Nails dug furrows, eliciting growls—pain or pleasure, choose your preference—from the vampire, half energized, half awake, all hers. Hand, fingers buried in her hair, her mouth parted and smiling—thunder and strings drumming through her. A cry escaped the tired throat, his hips bucked up, and soon she fell onto him contentedly. Cordy murmured a curse under her breath, knowing that Angel had heard her. He did that thing of his. The comfortable thing. Angel gently moved to let her rest her head on his chest, after a one, two kisses of payment.  
  
"Mmmm…" Her breathing was steady now, not heaving sobs or ragged gasps. Cordelia looked at Angel, studying his profile before saying quite slowly, "…I hate you."  
  
Angel nodded, and he gave that jerk of a grin. "I know."  
  
The tiredness remained with her, not only from the act of sex they had participated in, but from the emotional stress she endured. Hate was a harsh word, and Angel knew it had been used in jest, but that didn't put the pain lingering… It didn't put the pain aside. It ached terribly within him, a pulsing beat matching beat for beat, the rhythms of the waves.  
  
Waves… Water. Crashing down—  
  
"How was it?" Cordelia asked, after a long pause of silence. The lights were off, and he felt her body wrap around his own, his free hand twirling strands of her hair. Resting his head against the headboard, Angel looked to the window, thanking Cordy inwardly for she had closed the curtains. It seemed too different, Cordelia's room. Her dresser, her clothes, her makeup. All there. Possessions. Her possessions.  
  
She was his.  
  
The airy, spacey atmosphere took Angel off guard for he had remembered her apartment best at night.  
  
Angel cleared his throat, staring straight ahead. "How was what?"  
  
"You know what I mean," the young woman said matter-of-factly.   
  
"When I was disfigured…?" He trailed off after that, then continued with a reassuring poke. He didn't want to frighten the girl anymore than she needed to be. "It was – different."  
  
"You think?" Cordelia readjusted herself, nuzzling his chest. "Different in what capacity? Don't look at me like that. I was in the top percentile. I know big words. Well, at least a few. Did I mention those stuff texts come—"  
  
"It was brutal clarity," Angel started, his eyes haunted and far away. "To go in and out, every day. Sometimes, when the chips are down, I think about all the bad things, and how they'll never go away. But to see yourself, to have other people see you this way and not be able to change it. To give your reasons, to avoid the sympathetic looks and the ridicule. The only way to survive here is to live in it. To take all the crap life hands over to you, broken face, arm, whatever. It reminded me that there were people who were worse off.  
  
Every day there was a new pain. The feeling of being buried alive, the smell of sterilization and magnolias, and Buffy. Buffy, with her smell and taste and touch that I couldn't have. Because I didn't _want_ to have it. I didn't deserve it. I had lost what meant so much to me when I grew up. Looks. That's all it came down to. Looks. I wasn't superficial, depressed yes, but not superficial. It was the relationship based on rushed feelings, the mutual attraction. So when I lost that, what had been natural and not a curse, or a death, I had nothing. No friends, no family, no… love. It was my own stubbornness that brought about the downfall, as well as Buffy. She and I never had what we have. And I'm glad for it," Angel admitted, letting strands fall from cold fingers.  
  
"You were human Angel, even if it wasn't real," Cordelia added, those eyes rising to look at his own. "I don't think you can just forget that."  
  
There was true pain in her voice, her mind wondering, trying to read his. Those years with Buffy—  
  
"It wasn't," Angel replied flatly. "Real. I don't want it. Not yet. I'm not finished yet. The things I could do with you, Connor, everyone. I can't take a choice ill gained only to not have you or them in the end. I couldn't help people. I couldn't even help myself. Cordelia, it wasn't the disfigurement that irked me, it was... just…"  
  
Cordelia let out a sigh, tracing patterns on his arm while she did so. "Living."  
  
"Yeah." Angel nodded, eyes far off and staring. "Living."  
  
She nuzzled him closer and he kissed her forehead.  
  
*  
  
"Faith…" What was there to say? To follow the name with? 'How's jail?' Wesley blanched at the thought of 'pissing' the rogue slayer off. Willingly turning herself in to the authorities surprised him at the time, but the act of staying, not straying from the repressive cell took a lot of strength. Faith had been fragile, broken when Angel took her in, happier when he visited her.  
  
He hadn't seen Faith for two years.  
  
"Hey Wes." Her tone was surprisingly light and airy. "Am I the only one or did Wolfram and Hart get all Mojo Jojo on your head too?"  
  
After a beat, Faith explained, "They have cable. Power Puff Girls. Y'know?"  
  
"Right, right," Wesley blurted, prying his eyes away from Fred's profile to lean forward at the counter for the hotel. Occupying himself with the notepad left there for messages, he instead started to scribble away, trying, lord he was just _trying_ to make this go well.  
  
"Wesley. You sound all pensive. How's C and her vamp? Buff? And excuse me for even mentioning the selfish sonuvabitch, Spike?"  
  
"Faith, you—"  
  
"You weren't that bad, Wes. You weren't that bad."  
  
He turned away from Fred, from Gunn. From the baby. The brooding storm in Wesley's eyes crackled with the intensity of memories.  
  
Angel and Cordelia weren't alone in their dream. Their desires.  
  
Neither was he.  
  
They didn't have to know. They'd find out. But now, just now, Wesley talked to Faith on the phone. He didn't feel like talking to them. Not just yet.  
  
*  
  
**That Morning**  
  
It had been four minutes.  
  
"Buffy… After all that's happened, I think we—"  
  
"We what?" she asked.  
  
Angel cleared his throat, trying to convey what he felt in his stomach, in his bones. "We can make it work. You and me."  
  
He paused, but only for a second, a mere second to cut her off.  
  
"The friendship thing. We can do that."  
  
Now it was Buffy's turn, and pause she did. He could visualize her nodding, the cascading blonde tendrils on her forehead shake and caress the soft curve of her face. God, it was so strange now. Like the Mohra demon, the day gone, only this time it was two years.  
  
Two years of her, being with her, that faded away, gone, unlike the day of bliss Angel had experienced, remembered, once longed for again. Yet that was in the past, and as he arranged himself to hold the cell phone in the crux of his neck to see her, Cordelia was his future.  
  
"I know. I know we can. We can try," Buffy said slowly, but there wasn't any regret. No delayed answers leading to hanging up and crying. No solemn looks. There was seriousness, flashes of maturity, something Angel had not fully experienced during his time with her.  
  
Running fingers through ruffled short and spiky hair, Angel let out an unnecessary breath. "Is everything all right? You sounded a little worried the other day."  
  
"Demons. Big, stinky, summoned demons. The usual. You know how Tuesdays get."  
  
"Do I ever." Angel pulled his eyes away from the sheet, dark gaze trailing along the edge of the bed, to the chair nearby. His duster, unceremoniously thrown, her heels resting on them.  
  
"Take care of yourself," Angel said at last, licking his lips. It would always be uncomfortable around Buffy. Angel knew that. But she was his ex. Nothing would change that. "Okay?"  
  
"You too, Angel. You too. …Bye," Buffy replied, her own mind running on twelve cylinders.  
  
That was another story.  
  
Click.  
  
Pulling back, one could view the ivory sheets twisted, hanging off the edges. How the items of clothing were thrown, heels in awkward positions. The vampire leaned forward, pale but firm, tender, weak and …hot at the same time. Leaning on an elbow after putting the phone gently on the dresser nearby, Angel slowly glanced down to his left, then just as slowly wiped the sleep from his eyes.  
  
She rested there, Cordelia, mouth set in a tiny smile. Her chest was covered, facing towards him… Flesh yearning for a touch, a kiss. He hated it sometimes, how his body screamed to touch and feel her own. That she was there, skin and sinew and bone there, wickedly calling out to him. Making him yearn for her.  
  
So long. So hard.  
  
Tracing the back of his fingers along her arm, Angel moved to her face, gently nudging her lip. The dreamy look of solitude appeared, eyes lazily opening. Cordy smiled at him, a slow one that reminded Angel of the sunrise in Ireland. The memory was vague, since it was more than two hundred years ago, but he had also been terribly drunk at the time. The rolling hills of green, the smell of fresh produce at the market had been ignored, courses set straight for knickers and bosoms.  
  
"Hey," Angel greeted her, his voice undeniably soft. "How are you?"  
  
Cordelia fidgeted, pulling her hair back behind her ear and covering herself. "Feeling a terrible imaginary hangover. You?"  
  
"I'm hungry," he confessed, a sheepish grin.  
  
"After all that, you're… _hungry_?" Cordelia smiled fully, and it was the first time in a long while that he felt the brilliancy of it. "You don't even EAT."  
  
"I didn't say I was hungry for food." He leaned forward, rubbing noses with her before pulling back. "You are. I can tell."  
  
She raised the bed sheet, covering her mouth. "Don't go all vamp sense-y on me."  
  
He ruffled her hair and she whined in jest, kissing his fingers when he paused to caress her cheek. "I'll go make you something. How does eggs sound?"  
  
"Good. It sounds very good."  
  
Cordelia watched him rise from the bed, appreciating the marble stature and naked body. Pleasantly smiling, Cordelia fell back onto soft pillows, and after a couple of minutes she could hear the actions and sounds of the kitchen. Pans, the fridge being opened, Angel muttering about her selection of food. The spurting and crackle of eggs, bacon, its salty and pungent smell making her conflicted. Rise from bed, to the world, or sleep away the evilness that befell her.  
  
Sleep away and let him pull the covers up, kiss her gently, and leave the room just as so, after picking up her heels, straightening. To feel his cool hand on her forehead, the soft smirk on his face. Or, she could merely wait for him to call out to her, telling her the food was done. Angel would come in, she knew, trying to get Cordy out of bed. If the girl felt more energy, she'd do it herself. Shuffling into the kitchen bundled in a robe, accept the kiss on her cheek early in the morning. Sitting down, reading a magazine.  
  
Cordelia could have all of that. But she remained in between, hand on her forehead, staring at the ceiling. Temples throbbed, a headache, reminding her of the recent vision. Yet there was none, but there would be more again. There would be pain, loss… The overwhelming feeling of anxiety stole through her, evaporating as soon as she'd felt it. For there was a light sound, the sound of… there was the sound of whistling, coming from Angel. A rare, precious thing.  
  
"Cordy. It's for you."  
  
_I could tell you about what happened that day. What Angel made for breakfast, the joke we laughed at in the morning. Our case. But I don't feel like it. And it's not that important. What's important is that we got through it. They tell me not to worry about him, or Connor, or everyone. How can I not? I'm not Connor's mom or anything like that, but with Angel as his father… Someone who needs to be held, to be loved. Both of them. That's different though.  
  
If I had known how lonely and heart wrenching it could be, I would have never told Angel about my vision. But then, people would die, and it'd be the same old thing again right? Just like that old saying. 'Damn if you do, damn if you don't.' Well damn it, who comes up with those old sayings anyway? It's like the whole vicious children's rhymes thing. Jeez. Really fundamental, aren't they?  
  
Back to my point. Right. Anyway, in the end, everything will be okay. All that matters is that family, OUR family is together. Because that's all we have left. Each of us. One. We go on, day by day, and we take care of the pain and blood, and hurting in the world. We try as best as we can because that's what champions do. Save people, ideas, and ways of life. If you take that away, the wish to be not normal, but equal, then what do you have left? Nothing. And it feels like a void.  
  
A void that opened and from the remains of the warehouse, you could see a clawed hand trying to climb out and be free. I won't tell you if it succeeded.  
  
I could tell you about how I miss Faith, and Buffy, and even Spike. How Angel's versions in his mind were different than what I know. Fabricated into something solid and true. But I won't. I can't. Why give away the ending? It's not happy, it's not sad. It can never be both.  
  
It's just… living._  
  
End.   



End file.
